“Now, Mr. ——, I don’t know your name,” said Sanford, when he found Clyde, after he had written the epistle.
“Blacklock,” replied the Briton—“Clyde Blacklock.”
“Well, Blacklock, if you want an up-and-down good time, come with us.”
“Where? To Christiania? into the lion’s den?”
“Not yet, but—don’t open your mouth; don’t let on for the world,” whispered the coxswain, glancing at his companions.
“Not a word,” added Clyde, satisfied he had found the right friend.
“We are going to the Rjukanfos to-morrow, but only one or two of us know it yet. Your man will spoil all. Send him back to Christiania this very afternoon. Here’s a blind for him; let him take this letter.”
Clyde liked plotting and mischief, and as soon as his guide had eaten his supper, he was started for his home in the capital, glad enough to go, for he had been paid for all the time agreed upon; and Sanford ceased to tremble lest he should expose to his companions the mistake in regard to horses, or another blunder which was to be made the next morning.