When the young man came to England, he of course gave the authorities an exact account of the wreck of the Queen of the East, and the fate of the crew. The account had been published in several of the English papers, and he laughingly proffered to show us some of these papers if we found his verbal account not exhaustive enough.
Mr. Howell had come to Norway at the express invitation of old Frick, who, when he had heard of his old friend's death, had written and asked the son to visit him in Norway. The young man had received Frick's letter just when he was on the point of sailing from Australia—he had already arranged previously to visit Europe—and had notified his departure by telegraph.
"You did right, Reginald, in coming as quickly as possible to your father's old friend. I suppose you intend to spend the winter with us. You can learn to go on 'ski' here; a fine sport, I can tell you. You must live with us. I have had two rooms made ready for you here in Villa Ballarat."
Mr. Howell said he thought he would avail himself of the invitation for one or two months; he was a keen sportsman, and had long ago made up his mind to have a look at, and a try at, ski-running.
"That's right," cried old Frick, clinking his champagne glass against that of the Englishman. "The whole house and all that I possess is at the disposal of my old friend's son. After dinner you shall hear what I owe him. I don't suppose I need offer to assist you with any money, for in his last letter to me your father wrote that he would leave you everything he possessed, for your mother died when you were a little boy, and you were the only child. Your father was not so very rich, but I think he wrote something about £1200 a year."
"Yes, thereabouts," replied the young man, good-naturedly, and smiling at the kind old man's loquacity; "and that is more than enough for me."
"Then perhaps I had better strike out your name from my will; it has, until now, been standing beside those of Sigrid and Einar."
We all laughed heartily and rose from the table.
When we were drinking our coffee, and had lighted our cigars, old Frick began the story of his friendship with Howell the elder, and the adventures which had bound these two so closely together.
To tell the truth, I tried my best to slip away, hoping for a chat alone with Sigrid; but that couldn't be managed, and after having heard old Frick's story, I must confess that only a man in love could dream of anything more interesting than his account of it.