Ticket No. "9672"

CHAPTER XVIII.

“Good-​morn­ing, Mr. Benett. It is al­ways a great plea­sure to me when I have an op­por­tu­ni­ty to shake hands with you.”

“And for me, pro­fes­sor, it is a great hon­or.”

“Hon­or, plea­sure--plea­sure, hon­or,” laughed the pro­fes­sor. “One bal­ances the oth­er.”

“I am glad to see that your jour­ney through Cen­tral Nor­way has been safe­ly ac­com­plished.”

“Not ac­com­plished, on­ly con­clud­ed, for this year.”

“But tell me, pray, all about those good peo­ple you met at Dal.”

“Ex­cel­lent peo­ple they were, friend Benett, in ev­ery sense of the word.”

“From what I can learn through the pa­pers they are cer­tain­ly very much to be pitied.”

“Un­ques­tion­ably, Mr. Benett. I have nev­er known mis­for­tune to pur­sue per­sons so re­lent­less­ly.”

“It seems so, in­deed, pro­fes­sor; for right af­ter the loss of the 'Viking' came that mis­er­able Sand­go­ist af­fair.”

“True, Mr. Benett.”

“Still, Mr. Hogg, I think Hul­da Hansen did right to give up the tick­et un­der the cir­cum­stances.”

“In­deed! and why, if you please?”

“Be­cause it is bet­ter to se­cure fif­teen thou­sand marks than to run a very great risk of gain­ing noth­ing at all.”

“You talk like the prac­ti­cal busi­ness man and mer­chant that you are; but if you choose to look at the mat­ter from an­oth­er point of view, it be­comes a mat­ter of sen­ti­ment, and mon­ey ex­erts very lit­tle in­flu­ence in such cas­es.”

“Of course, Mr. Hogg, but per­mit me to re­mark that it is more than like­ly that your pro­tegee has prof­it­ed great­ly by the ex­change.”

“Why do you think so?”

“But think of it. What does this tick­et rep­re­sent? One chance in a mil­lion of win­ning.”

“Yes, one chance in a mil­lion. That is very small; it is true, Mr. Benett, very small.”

“Yes; and con­se­quent­ly such a re­ac­tion has fol­lowed the late mad­ness that it is said that this Sand­go­ist who pur­chased the tick­et to spec­ulate up­on it has been un­able to find a pur­chas­er.”

“So I have heard.”

“And yet, if that ras­cal­ly usurer should win the grand prize, what a shame it would be!”

“A shame, most as­sured­ly, Mr. Benett; the word is not too strong--a shame, un­ques­tion­ably.”

This con­ver­sa­tion took place while Sylvius Hogg was walk­ing through the es­tab­lish­ment of M. Benett--an es­tab­lish­ment well known in Chris­tia­nia, and in­deed through­out Nor­way. It is dif­fi­cult to men­tion an ar­ti­cle that can not be found in this bazaar. Trav­el­ing-​car­riages, kar­iols by the dozen, canned goods, bas­kets of wine, pre­serves of ev­ery kind, cloth­ing and uten­sils for tourists, and guides to con­duct them to the re­motest vil­lages of Fin­mark, La­pland, or even to the North Pole. Nor is this all. M. Benett like­wise of­fers to lovers of nat­ural his­to­ry spec­imens of the dif­fer­ent stones and met­als found in the earth, as well as of the birds, in­sects, and rep­tiles of Nor­way. It is well, too, to know that one can nowhere find a more com­plete as­sort­ment of the jew­el­ry and bric-​a-​brac of the coun­try than in his show-​cas­es.

This gen­tle­man is con­se­quent­ly the good an­gel of all tourists de­sirous of ex­plor­ing the Scan­di­na­vian penin­su­la, and a man Chris­tia­nia could scarce­ly do with­out.

“By the way, you found the car­riage you had or­dered wait­ing for you at Tinoset, did you not, pro­fes­sor?” he asked.

“Yes. Hav­ing or­dered it through you, Mon­sieur Benett, I felt sure that it would, be there at the ap­point­ed time.”

“You are a sad flat­ter­er, I fear, Mon­sieur Hogg. But I judged from your let­ter that there were to be three of you in the par­ty.”

“There were three of us, as I told you.”

“And the oth­ers?”

“They ar­rived here safe and sound last evening, and are now wait­ing for me at the Ho­tel du Nord, where I am soon to join them.”

“And these per­sons are--?”

“Pre­cise­ly, Mon­sieur Benett, pre­cise­ly; but I must beg you to say noth­ing about it. I don't wish their ar­rival to be noised abroad yet.”

“Poor girl!”

“Yes, she has suf­fered ter­ri­bly.”

“And you wish her to be present at the draw­ing, though the tick­et her be­trothed be­queathed to her is no longer in her pos­ses­sion?”

“It is not my wish, Mon­sieur Benett, but that of Ole Kamp, and I say to you as I have said to oth­ers, Ole Kamp's last wish­es would be obeyed.”

“Un­ques­tion­ably. What you do is not on­ly right, but al­ways for the best, pro­fes­sor.”

“You are flat­ter­ing me now, dear Mon­sieur Benett.”

“Not at all. But it was a lucky day for them when the Hansen fam­ily made your ac­quain­tance.”

“Non­sense! it was a much more for­tu­nate thing for me that they crossed my path.”

“I see that you have the same kind heart still.”

“Well, as one is obliged to have a heart it is best to have a good one, isn't it?” re­tort­ed the pro­fes­sor, with a ge­nial smile. “But you needn't sup­pose that I came here mere­ly in search of com­pli­ments,” he con­tin­ued. “It was for an en­tire­ly dif­fer­ent ob­ject, I as­sure you.”

“Be­lieve me, I am quite at your ser­vice.”

“You are aware, I sup­pose, that but for the time­ly in­ter­ven­tion of Joel and Hul­da Hansen, the Rjukan­fos would nev­er have yield­ed me up alive, and I should not have the plea­sure of see­ing you to-​day?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” replied Mr. Benett. “The pa­pers have pub­lished full ac­counts of your ad­ven­ture, and those coura­geous young peo­ple re­al­ly de­serve to win the cap­ital prize.”

“That is my opin­ion,” an­swered Sylvius Hogg, “but as that is quite out of the ques­tion now, I am un­will­ing for my friend Hul­da to re­turn to Dal with­out some lit­tle gift as a sort of me­men­to of her vis­it to Chris­tia­nia.”

“That is cer­tain­ly an ex­cel­lent idea, Mr. Hogg.”

“So you must as­sist me in se­lect­ing some­thing that would be like­ly to please a young girl.”

“Very will­ing­ly,” re­spond­ed Mr. Benett. And he forth­with in­vit­ed the pro­fes­sor to step in­to the jew­el­ry de­part­ment, for was not a Nor­we­gian or­na­ment the most charm­ing sou­venir that one could take away with one from Chris­tia­nia and from Mr. Benett's won­der­ful es­tab­lish­ment?

Such at least was the opin­ion of Sylvius Hogg when the ge­nial mer­chant ex­hib­it­ed the con­tents of his show-​cas­es.

“As I am no con­nois­seur in such mat­ters I must be guid­ed by your taste, Mr. Benett,” he re­marked.

They had be­fore them a very large and com­plete as­sort­ment of na­tive jew­el­ry, which is usu­al­ly valu­able rather by rea­son of the elab­orate­ness of its work­man­ship than any cost­li­ness of ma­te­ri­al.

“What is this?” in­quired the pro­fes­sor.

“It is a ring with pen­dants which emit a very pleas­ant sound.”

“It is cer­tain­ly very pret­ty,” replied Sylvius Hogg, try­ing the bauble on the tip of his lit­tle fin­ger. “Lay it aside, Mr. Benett, and let us look at some­thing else.”

“Bracelets or neck­laces?”

“At a lit­tle of ev­ery­thing, if you please, Mr. Benett--a lit­tle of ev­ery­thing. What is this?”

“A set of or­na­ments for the cor­sage. Look at that del­icate trac­ery of cop­per up­on a red worsted ground­work. It is all in ex­cel­lent taste, though not very ex­pen­sive.”

“The ef­fect is cer­tain­ly charm­ing, Mr. Benett. Lay the or­na­ments aside with the ring.”

“But I must call your at­ten­tion to the fact that these or­na­ments are re­served for the adorn­ment of youth­ful brides on their wed­ding-​day, and that--”

“By Saint Olaf! you are right. Mr. Benett, you are quite right. Poor Hul­da! Un­for­tu­nate­ly it is not Ole who is mak­ing her this present, but my­self, and it is not to a blush­ing bride that I am go­ing to of­fer it.”

“True, true, Mr. Hogg.”

“Let me look then at some jew­el­ry suit­able for a young girl. How about this cross, Mr. Benett?”

“It is to be worn as a pen­dant, and be­ing cut in con­cave facets it sparkles bril­liant­ly with ev­ery move­ment of the wear­er's throat.”

“It is very pret­ty, very pret­ty, in­deed, and you can lay it aside with the oth­er ar­ti­cles, Mr. Benett. When we have gone through all the show-​cas­es we will make our se­lec­tion.”

“Yes, but--”

“What is the mat­ter now?”

“This cross, too, is in­tend­ed to be worn by Scan­di­na­vian brides on their mar­riage-​day.”

“The deuce! friend Benett. I am cer­tain­ly very un­for­tu­nate in my se­lec­tions.”

“The fact is, pro­fes­sor, my stock is com­posed prin­ci­pal­ly of bridal jew­el­ry, as that meets with the read­iest sale. You can scarce­ly won­der at that.”

“The fact doesn't sur­prise me at all, Mr. Benett, though it places me in a rather em­bar­rass­ing po­si­tion.”

“Oh, well, you can still take the ring you asked me to put aside.”

“Yes, but I should like some more showy or­na­ment.”

“Then take this neck­lace of sil­ver fil­igree with its four rows of chains which will have such a charm­ing ef­fect up­on the neck of a young girl. See! it is stud­ded with gems of ev­ery hue, and it is cer­tain­ly one of the most quaint and cu­ri­ous pro­duc­tions of the Nor­we­gian sil­ver­smiths.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Sylvius Hogg. “It is a pret­ty or­na­ment, though per­haps rather showy for my mod­est Hul­da. In­deed, I much pre­fer the cor­sage or­na­ments you showed me just now, and the pen­dant. Are they so es­pe­cial­ly re­served for brides that they can not be pre­sent­ed to a young girl?”

“I think the Stor­thing has as yet passed no law to that ef­fect,” replied Mr. Benett. “It is an un­par­don­able over­sight, prob­ably, but--”

“Well, well, it shall be at­tend­ed to im­me­di­ate­ly, Mr. Benett. In the mean­time I will take the cross and cor­sage or­na­ments. My lit­tle Hul­da may mar­ry some day af­ter all. Good and charm­ing as she is she cer­tain­ly will not want for an op­por­tu­ni­ty to uti­lize these or­na­ments, so I will buy them and take them away with me.”

“Very well, very well, pro­fes­sor.”

“Shall we have the plea­sure of see­ing you at the draw­ing, friend Benett?”

“Cer­tain­ly.”

“I think it will be a very in­ter­est­ing af­fair.”

“I am sure of it.”

“But look here,” ex­claimed the pro­fes­sor, bend­ing over a show-​case, “here are two very pret­ty rings I did not no­tice be­fore.”

“Oh, they wouldn't suit you, Mr. Hogg. These are the heav­ily chased rings that the pas­tor places up­on the fin­ger of the bride and the groom dur­ing the mar­riage cer­emo­ny.”

“In­deed? Ah, well, I will take them all the same. And now I must bid you good-​bye, Mr. Benett, though I hope to see you again very soon.”

Sylvius Hogg now left the es­tab­lish­ment, and walked briskly in the di­rec­tion of the Ho­tel du Nord.

On en­ter­ing the vestibule his eyes fell up­on the words _Fi­at lux_, which are in­scribed up­on the hall lamp.

“Ah! these Latin words are cer­tain­ly very ap­pro­pri­ate,” he said to him­self, “Yes. _Fi­at lux! Fi­at lux!_”

Hul­da was still in her room, sit­ting by the win­dow. The pro­fes­sor rapped at the door, which was in­stant­ly opened.

“Oh. Mon­sieur Sylvius!” cried the girl, de­light­ed­ly.

“Yes, here I am, here I am! But nev­er mind about Mon­sieur Sylvius now; our at­ten­tion must be de­vot­ed to break­fast, which is ready and wait­ing. I'm as hun­gry as a wolf. Where is Joel?”

“In the read­ing-​room.”

“Well, I will go in search of him. You, my dear child, must come right down and join us.”

Sylvius Hogg left the room and went to find Joel, who was al­so wait­ing for him, but in a state of mind bor­der­ing up­on de­spair. The poor fel­low im­me­di­ate­ly showed the pro­fes­sor the copy of the “Mor­gen-​Blad,” con­tain­ing the dis­cour­ag­ing tele­gram from the com­man­der of the “Tele­graph.”

“Hul­da has not seen it, I hope?” in­quired the pro­fes­sor, hasti­ly.

“No, I thought it bet­ter to con­ceal from her as long as pos­si­ble what she will learn on­ly too soon.”

“You did quite right, my boy. Let us go to break­fast.”

A mo­ment af­ter­ward all three were seat­ed at a ta­ble in a pri­vate din­ing-​room, and Sylvius Hogg be­gan eat­ing with great zest.

An ex­cel­lent break­fast it was, equal in fact to any din­ner, as you can judge from the _menu_. Cold beer soup, salmon with egg sauce, de­li­cious veal cut­lets, rare roast beef, a del­icate sal­ad, vanil­la ice, rasp­ber­ry and cher­ry pre­serv­er--the whole moist­ened with some very fine claret.

“Ex­cel­lent, ex­cel­lent!” ex­claimed Sylvius Hogg. “Why, we can al­most imag­ine our­selves in Dame Hansen's inn at Dal.”

And as his mouth was oth­er­wise oc­cu­pied his eyes smiled as much as it is pos­si­ble for eyes to smile.

Joel and Hul­da en­deav­ored to re­ply in the same strain, but they could not, and the poor girl tast­ed scarce­ly any­thing. When the repast was con­clud­ed:

“My chil­dren,” said Sylvius Hogg, “you cer­tain­ly failed to do jus­tice to a very ex­cel­lent break­fast. Still, I can not com­pel you to eat, and if you go with­out break­fast you are like­ly to en­joy your din­ner all the more, while I very much doubt if I shall be able to com­pete with you to-​night. Now, it is quite time for us to leave the ta­ble.”

The pro­fes­sor was al­ready up­on his feet, and he was about to take the hat Joel hand­ed him, when Hul­da checked him by say­ing:

“Mon­sieur Sylvius, do you still in­sist that I shall ac­com­pa­ny you?”

“To wit­ness the draw­ing? Cer­tain­ly I do, my dear girl.”

“But it will be a very painful or­deal for me.”

“I ad­mit it, but Ole wished you to be present at the draw­ing, Hul­da, and Ole's wish­es must be obeyed.”

This phrase was cer­tain­ly be­com­ing a sort of re­frain in Sylvius Hogg's mouth.