rded me with great surprise. He said (in
Scandinavian, of course):

"You speak Norwegian?"

I replied, in the same tongue:

"A little, a very little--_very_."

He seemed not only disappointed, but indignant. He explained the matter
to the crowd, and they all seemed indignant.

_Why_ everybody should be indignant with me I could not comprehend.
There are plenty of people who do not understand Scandinavian. It was
absurd to be vexed with me because _I_ did not. I do know a little, and
that is more than some people do.

I inquired of the old gentleman about B. He did understand me. I must
give him credit for that. But beyond understanding me, he was of no more
use than the others; and why they had taken so much trouble to fetch him,
I could not imagine.

What would have happened if the difficulty had continued much longer (for
I was getting thoroughly wild with the lot of them) I cannot say.
Fortunately, at this moment I caught sight of B. himself, who had just
entered the room.

I could not have greeted him more heartily if I had wanted to borrow
money of him.

"Well, I _am_ glad to see you again!" I cried. "Well, this _is_
pleasant! I thought I had lost you!"

"Why, you are English!" cried out the old gentleman in the white hat, in
very good Saxon, on hearing me speak to B.

"Well, I know that," I replied, "and I'm proud of it. Have you any
objection to my being English?"

"Not in the least," he answered, "if you'd only talk English instead of
Norwegian. I'm English myself;" and he walked away, evidently much
puzzled.

B. said to me as we sat down:

"I'll tell you what's the matter with you, J.--you know too many
languages for this continent. Your linguistic powers will be the ruin of
us if you don't hold them in a bit. You don't know any Sanscrit or
Chaldean, do you?"

I replied that I did not.

"Any Hebrew or Chinese?"

"Not a word."

"Sure?"

"Not so much as a full stop in any of them."

"That's a blessing," said B., much relieved. "You would be trying to
palm off one or other of them on some simple-minded peasant for German,
if you did!"

It is a wearisome journey, through the long, hot hours of the morning, to
Cologne. The carriage is stifling. Railway travellers, I have always
noticed, regard fresh air as poison. They like to live on the refuse of
each other's breath, and close up every window and ventilator tight. The
sun pours down through glass and blind and scorc