ALL READY TO "SHAKE HANDS."
Both of these bright boys hoped the next summer to "wake up in Chicago." It is, in fact, the great desire of Norwegian youths to go to America, and some are brave enough to do so with a capital of only twenty-five dollars. Their knowledge of the United States is, of course, limited, but one place there is known to all of them. Again and again we were subjected to the following questions: "Are you English?"
"No."
"Yes."
"Chicago?"
That was the place for them, evidently. New York is better than nothing, but Chicago is the El Dorado of the Scandinavians, for to that place they usually buy through-tickets, as to the doorway of the great Northwest.
Leaving the Hotel Stalheim, after a short stay, a glorious drive awaited us down to the Hardanger Fjord. At frequent intervals along this route we encountered gates designed to keep the cattle within certain limits. Women and children usually stood near-by to open them, expecting in return a trifling payment. Yet when I offered them a coin, I was sometimes surprised to see their hands still lingering near my own. At first I thought that they, like Oliver Twist, were asking for more, but presently I discovered that they merely wished to shake hands and say good-by, for hand-shaking in Norway is universal. If you bestow a fee upon your cariole-boy, your boot-black, or your chambermaid, each will offer his or her hand to you and wish you a happy journey. A pleasant custom, truly, but, on the whole, it is advisable for travelers in Norway to wear gloves. I usually responded cheerfully to this mode of salutation, though sometimes, when I saw what kind of a hand the peasant "held,"—I "passed!"