CHAPTER XXXII. OMNIPOTENT KRONER—THE FAMILY PARLOR AT ODNÆS—RANDS AND CHRISTIANIA FIORDS.
At the Sanitarium we scraped acquaintance with one of the ever-friendly English race. When he learned that we were bound to Odnæs that afternoon through the rain, which was still pouring, he expressed his sympathy. For he explained that it was impossible to get any accommodations at the only hotel there. He and a party of friends had been turned away from that house the night before, and had come on in the dark to the Sanitarium, where they were fortunate in securing the billiard-table—the only sleeping-place (except the floors) not then engaged.
As there was no prospect of a relief from the pressure at any place on the road while the severe storm lasted, we were in a quandary. But I had unfailing faith in the power of kroner, and decided to go on. We could not be worse off at Odnæs than at the Sanitarium, and, when there, would be so much farther on the way to Christiania and the home comforts of the Victoria Hotel.
If the day had been fine, the view from this watering-place in the hills would have been magnificent. It takes in a marvelous combination of peaks, table-lands, valley, lakes, and rivers. But none of these objects were visible through the rain; and, after many abortive efforts to catch glimpses of grandeur and loveliness which we had come so far to see, we shut ourselves up in the carriage as tightly as possible, and tried in vain to sleep.
The road to Odnæs was down-hill most of the way, and the drivers, whom we changed twice, made good time. After five hours of imprisonment in the carriage, relieved only by alighting at two little stations while fresh horses were put to the pole, we reached Odnæs. The moment we came in view of the hotel I realized how hopeless was the expectation of obtaining any bed there. Six or eight vehicles of different kinds were drawn up in front of the door. Others were squeezed into the small sheds near the large stables, the stalls of which had long been filled with horses, the later comers being tied to trees near the house. But the most convincing evidence of an overflow was the human crowd on the balcony, in the doorways and windows. Every pane of glass had its peering face. There were rows of people standing on tip-toe and looking over one another’s heads at us as our driver brought round the carriage as near the front door as he could get. The countless lookers-on smiled sarcastically as they saw us about to alight. That unanimous grin suddenly decided my line of action.
The head-porter of the hotel presented himself at the door of the carriage. He had good manners, and spoke a little English. He deeply regretted that they could not give us anything better than a place on the floor, without bedclothes of any kind.
“Very well,” said I, pointing to a neat little house—the only one in sight—“perhaps they can take us in.”
“Varee soree, sir, but they been all full two day.”
In this serious emergency, I must test the virtue of kroner. I handed one to the head-porter, and promised him three more if he would secure a bed for us in that cottage.