supposed it was her foot tapping on the deck.
Half-unconsciously I whistled the tune under my breath, wondering what sort of a face she had.
This tourist steamer was spoiling all the beauty and grandeur of the fjord. Still, it couldn’t be helped.
‘You haven’t been long,’ I said to Jake when he came back.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘we can go as far as Balholm. We can keep to ourselves,’ he went on;‘we needn’t worry with this crowd.’
He made a face at the sound of the gramophone overhead.
‘That’s not so good, Dick.’
I shrugged my shoulders; I did not mind it so much as I thought I would.
We stood for an instant, looking up at the mountains where we had come from the day before. They seemed very far away to me. The record was changed on the gramophone, and I went on whistling the new tune.
‘Those machines ought to be condemned,’ said Jake, still looking at the mountains.
‘Oh! I don’t know,’ I said.
I went up to have a look at the view from the top deck.
The Christiana left Laardel about midday for Gudvangen. Jake and I looked about for some quiet corner on the boat where we could get away from the crowd. The weather was marvellous, and it was impossible to sit down in our rather poky cabin with its two narrow berths, one above the other, so we had to become tourists like the rest of them, with a couple of deck-chairs under a large tarpaulin, while people near us exclaimed at the beauty of the view and ran about the deck clicking their wretched little Kodaks. They were a mixed crowd. A few Scandinavians, one or two English, with the majority German and American. They looked all wrong against the background of mountains. I felt they did not have any right to be there at all, neither they nor the steamer with its spotless deck and its polished brass, and the chugging swish of the propeller through the deep water. Jake and I ought to have been in a boat by ourselves. I wondered if one could sail through these fjords. It would be glorious, but the water looked dark and treacherous and there was never any wind.
Jake had found an American paper. He was reading up baseball news. Funny, the way he fitted in to any sort of atmosphere. The crowd did not seem to worry him.
I could not settle to read or to sleep. I felt restless for no reason. I did not know what I wanted to do. There was a party of Americans lying on rugs opposite, placed against the skylight of the saloon below. They were the people who had the gramophone. It was rather amusing to watch them. They were a party of five, three men and two girls. I leant back in my chair and wondered on the relationship between them all. Who was married to whom, and so on.They none of them behaved as though they were married. One fellow looked dull. He wore spectacles and was reading a book. I thought he must be the brother of the girl with dark hair, because when she asked him to go and get her a rug he said he couldn’t be bothered, and then one of the other fellows leapt up and found one for her instead. He seemed pleased to be able to do it, but she didn’t smile at him much. The other boy kept playing the fool with a camera, and taking photographs of them in ridiculous positions. He was the comic of the party. Everyone laughed whenever he opened his mouth. The other girl was asleep, or pretending to be. She had red hair. She wore a white dress without any sleeves. She buried her face in the crook of her arm and smiled for no reason in her sleep.
She was pretty good. I looked at her most of the time. I wondered which of the men she worried over - surely not the chap in the spectacles. Some fellows knew how to get away with anything. She probably treated them all alike, though. She sat up after a while and combed her hair. It didn’t need anything doing to it. Then she reached over with a lazy hand and started the gramophone. It was the same tune I had whistled in the morning. She shrugged her shoulders in time to the music, and
Half-unconsciously I whistled the tune under my breath, wondering what sort of a face she had.
This tourist steamer was spoiling all the beauty and grandeur of the fjord. Still, it couldn’t be helped.
‘You haven’t been long,’ I said to Jake when he came back.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘we can go as far as Balholm. We can keep to ourselves,’ he went on;‘we needn’t worry with this crowd.’
He made a face at the sound of the gramophone overhead.
‘That’s not so good, Dick.’
I shrugged my shoulders; I did not mind it so much as I thought I would.
We stood for an instant, looking up at the mountains where we had come from the day before. They seemed very far away to me. The record was changed on the gramophone, and I went on whistling the new tune.
‘Those machines ought to be condemned,’ said Jake, still looking at the mountains.
‘Oh! I don’t know,’ I said.
I went up to have a look at the view from the top deck.
The Christiana left Laardel about midday for Gudvangen. Jake and I looked about for some quiet corner on the boat where we could get away from the crowd. The weather was marvellous, and it was impossible to sit down in our rather poky cabin with its two narrow berths, one above the other, so we had to become tourists like the rest of them, with a couple of deck-chairs under a large tarpaulin, while people near us exclaimed at the beauty of the view and ran about the deck clicking their wretched little Kodaks. They were a mixed crowd. A few Scandinavians, one or two English, with the majority German and American. They looked all wrong against the background of mountains. I felt they did not have any right to be there at all, neither they nor the steamer with its spotless deck and its polished brass, and the chugging swish of the propeller through the deep water. Jake and I ought to have been in a boat by ourselves. I wondered if one could sail through these fjords. It would be glorious, but the water looked dark and treacherous and there was never any wind.
Jake had found an American paper. He was reading up baseball news. Funny, the way he fitted in to any sort of atmosphere. The crowd did not seem to worry him.
I could not settle to read or to sleep. I felt restless for no reason. I did not know what I wanted to do. There was a party of Americans lying on rugs opposite, placed against the skylight of the saloon below. They were the people who had the gramophone. It was rather amusing to watch them. They were a party of five, three men and two girls. I leant back in my chair and wondered on the relationship between them all. Who was married to whom, and so on.They none of them behaved as though they were married. One fellow looked dull. He wore spectacles and was reading a book. I thought he must be the brother of the girl with dark hair, because when she asked him to go and get her a rug he said he couldn’t be bothered, and then one of the other fellows leapt up and found one for her instead. He seemed pleased to be able to do it, but she didn’t smile at him much. The other boy kept playing the fool with a camera, and taking photographs of them in ridiculous positions. He was the comic of the party. Everyone laughed whenever he opened his mouth. The other girl was asleep, or pretending to be. She had red hair. She wore a white dress without any sleeves. She buried her face in the crook of her arm and smiled for no reason in her sleep.
She was pretty good. I looked at her most of the time. I wondered which of the men she worried over - surely not the chap in the spectacles. Some fellows knew how to get away with anything. She probably treated them all alike, though. She sat up after a while and combed her hair. It didn’t need anything doing to it. Then she reached over with a lazy hand and started the gramophone. It was the same tune I had whistled in the morning. She shrugged her shoulders in time to the music, and
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