The commercial, who had been hiding his face behind an old newspaper, burst out laughing, and hurried out on deck.
Peter Oiland settled his glasses on his nose, and went on:
"Smart lot of ladies you'd got hold of, too, Sukkestad; quite the up-to-date sort—eh, what? Ah, you're the man for the girls, no doubt about that."
"Really, Mr. Oiland, I don't know what you mean. Party—girls—I never heard of such a thing."
Peter then fell to telling stories, in the course of which one after another of the delegates disappeared. When he came to the story of the clerk who handed the parson his cassock with the words: "Tch! steady, old hoss, till I get your harness on," the last one left the room; no one was left now but the little commercial, who had found his way back again, and was thoroughly enjoying it all. The sea was calm now, and the moon was up, so the pair seated themselves on deck. And in the course of the evening the delegates below, endeavouring to get to sleep in their respective berths, were entertained by a series of drinking-songs much favoured by the wilder youth of the universities, Peter Oiland singing one part and the commercial traveller the other.
The pair were so pleased with each other's company that the commercial, whose name was Klingenstein—"Goloshes and rubber goods," decided not to land at Arendal as he had intended, but to go on to Stavanger instead. Peter Oiland recommended this course, as offering, perhaps—who could say—an opportunity for getting into touch with the South Sea Islands, and selling goloshes to the heathen.
"As a matter of fact," Peter added, "I know a man in Stavanger who lived some years on one of the South Sea Islands, personal friend of Queen Nabagadale; useful man to know." There was then every reason to believe that Klingenstein might open up a new market in elastic stockings and such like.
The moon went down about midnight, and Peter Oiland thought he might as well do likewise. Thoroughly pleased with himself and all the world, he went below and found his way to his cabin. The upper berth was occupied by a man in a big woollen nightcap. "Evening!" said Peter in the friendliest tone, as he sat down to take off his boot.
"Sir," said the gentleman in the nightcap, "permit me to observe that you might have a little consideration for people who wish to rest."
"Delighted, I'm sure," said Peter. "But what's the matter? Can't you get to sleep? Awful nuisance, insomnia, I know."