“If there is one thing more puzzling than another,” said he, “it is this rectangular arrangement of streets. I wish those utilitarian Yankees, who claim the invention, had it all to themselves. It is fit only for them.”
“The English of that is, you have lost your way,” said the Captain.
“No, not lost my way,” said the Parson, who piqued himself on his organ of locality; “but the fact is, I cannot remember, in the dark, which of all these rectangular crossings is the right one. I wish I could see that great lump of a church they are so proud of. I say, Birger, knock up some one, and ask ‘if Monsieur Tonson lodges there.’”
“Not I,” said Birger. “You are the guide; besides, they must be coming ashore, some of them, from the steamer by this time; and, in good truth, here are a couple of them.”
This couple, much to their relief, turned out to be Ullitz and Torkel, who pointed out the road at once, but looked rather grave at the Captain’s pipe, which was now sending forth a bright red glow through the darkness, and occasionally illuminating a budding moustache which he was cultivating on the strength of being a military man.
Had the acquaintance been of longer standing, they possibly would have spoken out; as it was, they contented themselves with a muttered dialogue in their own language, in which the Parson soon made out the words, “Tobacco” and “Police,” both of which being modern inventions, bear nearly the same name in every language in Europe.
“By the by, I had forgotten that,” said he. “Captain, I am sorry to put your pipe out; but the fact is, you must not smoke.”
“Not smoke! why not?”
“For fear you should set fire to the town,” said the Parson,—“that is all. You need not laugh; the law is very strict about it, I can tell you.”
The Captain did burst out laughing; and, in truth, where they were standing, it seemed a ridiculous law enough, though it is pretty general both in Norway and Sweden. The street was one of unusual width, being one expanse of sand from side to side, and the houses, none of which boasted a storey above the ground floor, seemed absurdly distant,—almost indistinct in the darkness.