Ticket No. 9672 by Jules Verne (the best e book reader txt) 📕

patronized, and did it pay well? How many tourists came there on an average during the summer? Did they usually spend one or several days there? etc., etc.

It was evident that the stranger had not looked at the register that had been placed in his room, for that would have given him all the information he desired upon this last point.

In fact, the book was still on the table where Hulda had placed it the evening before, and the traveler’s name was not in it.

“I do not understand how and why these matters can interest you, sir,” said Dame Hansen at last; “but if you wish to know the state of our business, nothing could be easier. You have only to examine the register, in which you would greatly oblige me by entering your name according to custom.”

“My name? I will write my name in it, certainly. I will write it there before I leave, which will be immediately after breakfast, as I am anxious to get back to Drammen by tomorrow evening.”

“Drammen!” repeated Dame Hansen, hastily.

“Yes. Will you give me my breakfast as soon as possible?”

“Do you live in Drammen?”

“Yes. May I ask if there is anything astonishing about the fact that I reside in Drammen?”

So, after spending scarcely twenty-four hours in Dal, or rather at the inn, the traveler left without making the slightest effort to see anything of the surrounding country, Gousta, and Rjukanfos, and the wonders of the valley of the Vesfjorddal were entirely ignored.

It certainly could not have been for pleasure that he left Drammen, so he must have come on business, and the sole object of his visit seemed to have been a careful examination of Dame Hansen’s establishment.

It was plain to Hulda that her mother was deeply troubled, for she seated herself in her big armchair, and pushing aside her spinning wheel, remained there silent and motionless.

In the meantime the traveler had gone into the dining room and seated himself at the table. Though the breakfast was as carefully prepared as the dinner of the evening before, it seemed to give no better satisfaction; and yet the guest eat and drank in the same leisurely fashion. His attention seemed to be chiefly bestowed upon the silver⁠—a luxury highly prized among Norwegian peasants, where the few forks and spoons which are handed down from father to son are carefully preserved with the family jewels.

Meanwhile the skydskarl busied himself with his preparations for departure; and by eleven o’clock the horse and karjol were standing before the door of the inn.

The weather was still threatening; the sky was dull and overcast, and now and then big drops of rain dashed against the windowpanes; but this traveler with his heavy cloak lined with sheepskin was not a man to worry about the weather.

Breakfast over, he called for one more glass of brandy, lighted his pipe, and put on his coat, then stepping out into the hall he called for his bill.

“I will make it out immediately,” replied Hulda, seating herself at a small desk.

“Be quick about it,” said the traveler. “And now,” he added, “you had better bring me your book so I can write my name in it.”

Dame Hansen rose and left the room to get the register, which, on her return, she placed upon the large table.

The stranger picked up a pen and took one more long look at Dame Hansen over his spectacles; then he wrote his name in a large, round hand, and closed the book.

Just at that moment Hulda handed him his bill. He took it, examined each item separately, and then proceeded to add up the figures, grumbling all the while.

“Hum!” he exclaimed. “This is very dear! Seven marks and a half for a night’s lodging and two meals!”

“You forget the skydskarl and the horse,” remarked Hulda.

“Nevertheless, I think your charge very high. I really don’t see how you can expect to prosper if you are so exorbitant in your charges.”

“You owe me nothing, sir,” said Dame Hansen, in a voice that trembled so that it was scarcely audible.

She had just opened the register and read the name inscribed upon it, and now taking the bill and tearing it up, she repeated:

“You owe me nothing.”

“That is exactly my opinion,” replied the stranger.

And without bidding them goodbye on his departure any more than he had bidden them good day on his arrival, he climbed into his karjol, and the skydskarl jumped upon the board behind him. A few seconds later he had disappeared around a turn in the road. When Hulda opened the book she found there only this name⁠—

“Sandgoist, from Drammen.”

VII

It was on the afternoon of the following day that Joel was to return home; and Hulda, who knew that her brother would come back by the tablelands of the Gousta and along the left bank of the Maan, went to meet him at the ferry across that impetuous stream. On arriving there she seated herself on the little wharf which serves as a landing-place for the ferryboat, and abandoned herself to her thoughts.

To the deep uneasiness caused by the non-arrival of the Viking was now added another great anxiety. This last was caused by the mysterious visit of Sandgoist, and Dame Hansen’s agitation in his presence. Why had she destroyed the bill and declined to accept the money due her as soon as she learned her guest’s name? There must be some secret concealed under all this⁠—and a grave one.

Hulda was finally aroused from her reverie by the approach of Joel. She first caught a glimpse of him as he was descending the topmost slope; soon he reappeared in the midst of a narrow clearing between the burned and fallen trees. Then he vanished from sight behind a clump of pines, and at last reached the opposite bank and jumped aboard the ferryboat. With a few vigorous strokes of the oar he