The touching story of Evangeline recurred to me with
terrible vividness.
Something must be done, and that immediately. Somehow or another I
must find B. I roused myself, and summoned to my aid every word of
Scandinavian that I knew.
It was no good these people pretending that they did not understand
their own language, and putting me off that way. They had got to
understand it this time. This was no mere question of coffee and
rolls; this was a serious business. I would make that waiter
understand my Scandinavian, if I had to hammer it into his head with
his own coffee-pot!
I seized him by the arm, and, in Scandinavian that must have been
quite pathetic in its tragic fervour, I asked him if he had seen my
friend - my friend B.
The man only stared.
I grew desperate. I shook him. I said:
"My friend - big, great, tall, large - is he where? Have you him to
see where? Here?"
(I had to put it that way because Scandinavian grammar is not a
strong point with me, and my knowledge of the verbs is as yet
limited to the present tense of the infinitive mood. Besides, this
was no time to worry about grace of style.)
A crowd gathered round us, attracted by the man's terrified
expression.
