“This is Kongsberg, Burchmore,” said the coxswain.
“Is it, really? or are you playing some trick upon us?” replied the cashier.
“’Pon my word this is Kongsberg. Isn’t it, Ole?”
“Yes, certainly,” answered the waif, winking slyly to Burchmore.
“All right, Sanford; if you are satisfied, I am.”
“I know it is Kongsberg. I have been here before,” added Clyde, wishing to give his testimony in carrying out the deception.
It was quite true that he had been in Kongsberg, but Ole took care that he should not go to the part of the town he had visited before. The road looked familiar to him; but as he rode alone, he had no opportunity to state the fact to others. Before night the party arrived at Drammen, where a regular line of steamers runs to Christiania.
“That’s the lake—is it?” said Sanford, pointing to the Drammen River, which, below the town, is nearly two miles wide.
“That’s it.”
“What does Burchmore say? Does he know where he is?”