“He was as red as a red bear,” said he, abstractedly. “He came from the north; they said so in the galley when he looked for rowers—not slaves, but free men. Afterward—years and years afterward—news came from another ship, or else he came back”—
His lips moved in silence. He was rapturously retasting some poem before him.
“Where had he been, then?” I was almost whispering that the sentence might come gentle to whichever section of Charlie’s brain was working on my behalf.
“To the Beaches—the Long and Wonderful Beaches!” was the reply, after a minute of silence.
“To Furdurstrandi?” I asked, tingling from head to foot.
“Yes, to Furdurstrandi,” he pronounced the word in a new fashion. “And I too saw”——The voice failed.
“Do you know what you have said?” I shouted, incautiously.
He lifted his eyes, fully roused now, “No!” he snapped. “I wish you’d let a chap go on reading. Hark to this:
“‘But Othere, the old sea captain,
He neither paused nor stirred
Till the king listened, and then
Once more took up his pen
And wrote down every word,
“‘And to the King of the Saxons
In witness of the truth,
Raising his noble head,
He stretched his brown hand and said,
“Behold this walrus tooth.’”