Alarmed to mark at what a fearful distance I stood from my dinner, I looked wistfully round the room for some face on which I could read an example or two of the English grammar; but in vain. The poor girl observed that she had not anticipated my desire as well as she might have, and said something to me in a tone of regret, to which I could only make reply by a partial negative and affirmative shake of my head, and committing it to the peculiar sagacity of her sex to understand what I wanted. A little, stout man, something like a runt, saw the position to which I was reduced, and, coming up to me, said in broken English,
"What you want, Sir? can I do you help?"
"Thank you," I replied; "I want some dinner; but I cannot make this girl understand me."
"I not English," answered the man, "and I not speak te Swedish. I am Russian. I alway make sign for tings I wish."
"And so do I," I said; "but in this case I am quite at a loss what to do."
"You want dinner, Sir? When I want dinner," replied the Russian, "I alway say, 'food,' vitch is, 'föda,' and put my finger down my mout; and if tey not know what I mean by 'föda,' I say, 'kött,' vitch is meat."
"That's a capital plan; but, you see, I could not adopt it, for I never heard of 'Föda' and 'Kött' before."
"Ha! Sir," exclaimed the Russian, "I alway find out te word for 'eat' in every country. I travel much. I starve if I not know. What shall I help for you?"
"Why—I will have some dinner," I said; "anything I can get—I don't care what it may be."
"Good," answered the Russian; and, turning to the girl, who had remained listening to our dialogue, but totally at a loss to imagine its drift,