Sam’s exclamations were wild at first, and he stared like a maniac, but as consciousness returned he understood his position, and being naturally a modest man, he hastily drew on his nightcap and gathered the bedding round his shoulders. Accepting the coffee, he drank it, and the girl crossed the room to pay similar attentions to Fred Temple.
This presentation of a cup of coffee in bed before breakfast is a custom in Norway, and a very pleasant custom it is, too, especially when it breaks upon you unexpectedly for the first time.
“Now for the fish-market, Sam,” cried Fred, leaping out of bed when the girl had left the room.
“Who cares for the fish-market?” said Sam testily, as he turned round in his bed, and prepared to slumber.
“I care for it,” retorted Fred, “and so do you, old boy, only you are lazy this morning. Come, get up. I have resolved to spend only one day in this queer old city, so you must not let drowsiness rob you of your opportunities of seeing it. The fish-market, you know, is famous. Come, get up.”
Temple enforced his advice by seizing his companion by the ankles and hauling him out of bed. Sam grumbled but submitted, and in a short time they were ready to start.
“Hallo! Grant,” cried Fred, as they passed his door, “will you come with us to ramble over the town?”
“No,” said Grant, in a deep bass voice.
“Why?”
“Because I won’t.”