Part 34 (2/2)
There was a somewhat awkward silence; the company seemed rather in doubt as to the speaker's sympathy with their ideas.
Presently the sea began to make itself felt, and Peter Oiland found occasion to relate the anecdote of the old lady who had been in to Christiania for a new set of false teeth, and, being sea-sick on the way back, dropped them overboard; next day the local papers had an account of a big cod just caught, with false teeth in its mouth!
A smile--a very faint one--greeted the story, and the pa.s.sengers relapsed into their customary seriousness, not without occasional glances between one and another: what sort of a fellow was this they had got on board?
”H'm!” thought Peter Oiland. ”Have another try; wake them up a bit.
Must be a queer sort of party if I can't.”
Just then Sukkestad appeared in the doorway.
”This way, this way, if you please,” shouted Peter gaily. ”Gentlemen, my friend and colleague, Bukkestad--beg pardon, Sukkestad; slip of the tongue, you understand. Come along in, old man! Jolly evening we had at your place last night--first-rate fun.”
Sukkestad did not know whether to laugh or cry, or take himself off and have done with it. The fellow must be mad!
The commercial, who had been hiding his face behind an old newspaper, burst out laughing, and hurried out on deck.
Peter Oiland settled his gla.s.ses on his nose, and went on:
”Smart lot of ladies you'd got hold of, too, Sukkestad; quite the up-to-date sort--eh, what? Ah, you're the man for the girls, no doubt about that.”
”Really, Mr. Oiland, I don't know what you mean. Party--girls--I never heard of such a thing.”
Peter then fell to telling stories, in the course of which one after another of the delegates disappeared. When he came to the story of the clerk who handed the parson his ca.s.sock with the words: ”Tch!
steady, old hoss, till I get your harness on,” the last one left the room; no one was left now but the little commercial, who had found his way back again, and was thoroughly enjoying it all. The sea was calm now, and the moon was up, so the pair seated themselves on deck.
And in the course of the evening the delegates below, endeavouring to get to sleep in their respective berths, were entertained by a series of drinking-songs much favoured by the wilder youth of the universities, Peter Oiland singing one part and the commercial traveller the other.
The pair were so pleased with each other's company that the commercial, whose name was Klingenstein--”Goloshes and rubber goods,”
decided not to land at Arendal as he had intended, but to go on to Stavanger instead. Peter Oiland recommended this course, as offering, perhaps--who could say--an opportunity for getting into touch with the South Sea Islands, and selling goloshes to the heathen.
”As a matter of fact,” Peter added, ”I know a man in Stavanger who lived some years on one of the South Sea Islands, personal friend of Queen Nabagadale; useful man to know.” There was then every reason to believe that Klingenstein might open up a new market in elastic stockings and such like.
The moon went down about midnight, and Peter Oiland thought he might as well do likewise. Thoroughly pleased with himself and all the world, he went below and found his way to his cabin. The upper berth was occupied by a man in a big woollen nightcap. ”Evening!” said Peter in the friendliest tone, as he sat down to take off his boot.
”Sir,” said the gentleman in the nightcap, ”permit me to observe that you might have a little consideration for people who wish to rest.”
”Delighted, I'm sure,” said Peter. ”But what's the matter? Can't you get to sleep? Awful nuisance, insomnia, I know.”
”Well, when people are so tactless as to sit up on deck just over one's head, stamping and shouting out ribald songs....”
But before his indignant fellow-pa.s.senger could finish his sentence, Peter Oiland was in his berth and snoring--snoring so emphatically, indeed, that he of the nightcap, after having listened to this new melody for three solid hours, got up in despair and went off to lie down on a sofa in the saloon.
Peter Oiland slept like a mummy till ten o'clock next morning, not even waking when the steamer touched at her two ports of call.
Coming on deck, he could not fail to perceive that the other delegates were somewhat cold and reserved in their manner towards him, while as for Sukkestad, he had retired to an obscure corner of the second-cla.s.s quarters.
”Poor fellow, he's not used to travelling,” thought Peter Oiland. ”I must go and cheer him up a bit.” And he went across to Sukkestad and asked if he didn't feel like something to eat.
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