to amuse yourself as best you can,” said Olson. “Mr. Van Kirk will be here in twenty minutes. I haven’t time to entertain you.” A dreary half hour passed. Then the door opened and a tall, handsome man, with a full grayish beard, and a commanding presence, entered and took his seat at a desk in a smaller adjoining office. He opened, with great dispatch, a pile of letters which lay on the desk before him, called out in a sharp, ringing tone for a clerk, who promptly appeared, handed him half-a-dozen letters, accompanying each with a brief direction, took some clean paper from a drawer and fell to writing. There was something brisk, determined, and business-like in his manner, which made it seem very hopeless to Halfdan to appear before him as a petitioner. Presently Olson entered the private office, closing the door behind him, and a few minutes later re-appeared and summoned Halfdan into the chief’s presence. “You are a Norwegian, I hear,” said the merchant, looking around over his shoulder at the supplicant, with a preoccupied air. “You want work. What can you do?” What can you do? A fatal question. But here was clearly no opportunity for mental debate. So, summoning all his courage, but feeling nevertheless very faint, he answered: “I have passed both examen artium and philosophicum, 2 and got my laud clear in the former, but in the latter haud on the first point.” Mr. Van Kirk wheeled round on his chair and faced the speaker: “That is all Greek to me,” he said, in a severe tone. “Can you keep accounts?” “No. I am afraid not.” Keeping accounts was not deemed a classical accomplishment in Norway. It was only “trade-rats” who troubled themselves about such gross things, and if our Norseman had not been too absorbed with the problem of his destiny, he would have been justly indignant at having such a question put to him. “Then you don’t know book-keeping?” “I think not. I never tried it.” “Then you may be sure you don’t know it. But you must certainly have tried your hand at something. Is there nothing you