“Stomach trouble?” asked Mr. Swift shrewdly.
“The money may have been in Russian rubles and there wasn’t enough in his pockets to buy an egg sandwich,” chuckled Tom.
“Neither of you is right,” said Wakefield Damon, rather gravely for him. “Aman Dele had perfectly good money—Danish money, I found out afterward. I found him in New York where one might think every language in the world is spoken. But he had all the interpreters puzzled.”
“And he was a Dane? Why, there is a big Danish colony in New York.”
“He was of Danish extraction; but he came from Iceland; and he came from the interior of that island where the people live about as they did when the island was first settled from Denmark, or Norway, or some Scandinavian country.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Tom suddenly. “That was away back in the time of the Norsemen. Isn’t that right, father?”
“It must be,” said Mr. Swift, in agreement.
“And you mean that this Aman Dele spoke Old Norse, Mr. Damon?” asked Tom.
“And nothing else. He was just a young fellow and very bashful. He had not entered the country through the Emigration Bureau. He had plenty of money, as I say, and undoubtedly had come across on one of the big ships. Traveling first, or possibly second cabin, his food had been supplied him at the table d’hôte. He had not been obliged to talk. And he did not know a word of French or English, or modern Danish.”
“I declare!” exclaimed Mr. Swift. “But money speaks with a louder tongue than anything else! He had money. But it was probably modern Icelandic he spoke, Tom,” he added.