It seemed hopeless.
"I BOARDED A PJINE RJAFT"
Suddenly an idea flashed across my mind. I will go, I thought, to the coldest railway station in London and ask for a ticket for Nansen. A man so fastidious as he is in the matter of temperature, I reasoned, cannot have left London at any one of their moderately warm stations. Where the temperature is most frigid, there Nansen must have gone when leaving, he is such a stickler for temperature. Wherefore I went to the Waterloo Station—it is the coldest railway station I know—and I asked the agent for a ticket for Nansen.
He seemed nonplussed for a moment, and, to cover his embarrassment, asked:
"Second or third class?"
"First," said I, putting down a five-pound note.
"Certainly," said he, handing me a ticket to Southampton. "Do you think you people in the States will really have war with Spain?"
I will not dilate upon this incident. Suffice it to say that the ticket man sent me to Southampton, where, he said, I'd be most likely to find a boat that would carry me to Nansen. And he was right. I reached Sjwjcktcwjch within twenty-four hours, and holding, as I did, letters of introduction from President McKinley and her Majesty Queen Victoria, from Richard Croker and Major Pond, Mr. Nansen consented to receive me.