“I don’t feel it.”
“But, Norway, how came you in that old tub, out of sight of land?” persisted Rodman, returning to the charge again.
“I went into it just the same as one of you Americans would have got into it,” laughed Ole, who did not think it necessary to resort to the tactics he had used with the principal and the captain. “You could have done it if you had tried as hard as I did.”
“After you got in, then, how came the boat out here, so far from land?”
“The wind, the tide, and the broken oar brought it out here.”
“Indeed! But won’t you tell us your story, Ole?”
“A story? O, yes. Once there was a king of Norway whose name was Olaf, and half the men of his country were named after him, because—”
“Never mind that story, Ole. We want to hear the story about yourself.”
“About myself? Well, last year things didn’t go very well with me; the crop of potatoes was rather short on my farm, and my vessels caught but few fish; so I decided to make a voyage up the Mediterranean, to spend the winter.”
“What did you go in, Norway?” asked Wilde.