Chapter III
As evening fell, he saw a multitude of lights spread out on every side
far ahead in the darkness. And next, with his little wooden chest on his
shoulder, he was finding his way up through the streets by the quay to
a lodging-house for country folk, which he knew from former visits, when
he had come to the town with the Lofoten boats.
Next morning, clad in his country homespun, he marched up along River
Street, over the bridge, and up the hill to the villa quarter, where he
had to ask the way. At last he arrived outside a white-painted wooden
house standing back in a garden. Here was the place--the place where his
fate was to be decided. After the country fashion he walked in at the
kitchen door.
A stout servant maid in a big white apron was rattling the rings of the
kitchen range into place; there was a pleasing smell of coffee and good
things to eat. Suddenly a door opened, and a figure in a dressing-gown
appeared--a tall red-haired man with gold spectacles astride on a long
red nose, his thick hair and scrubby little moustaches touched
with grey. He gasped once or twice and then started
sneezing--hoc-hoc-put-putsch!--wiped his nose with a large
pocket-handkerchief, and grumbled out: "Ugh!--this wretched cold--can't
get rid of it. How about my socks, Bertha, my good girl; do you think
they are quite dry now?"
"I've had them hung up ever since I lit the fire this morning," said the
girl, tossing her head.
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