Br-r-r-r-r-r!  There’s the alarm-clock.  I wait and wait and wait.  At home I am always accustomed to hear that noise followed by the passage of a pair of bare feet across the floor, and a yawn or so.  Here —­ not a sound.  When Amundsen left me he forgot to say where I could best put myself.  I tried to follow him into the room, but the atmosphere there —­ no thanks!  I could easily guess that nine men were sleeping in a room 19 feet by 13 feet; it did not require anyone to tell me that.  Still not a sound.  I suppose they only keep that alarm-clock to make themselves imagine they are turning out.  Wait a minute, though.  “Lindtrom!  Lindtrom!” He went by the name of Lindtrom, not Lindstrom.  “Now, by Jove! you’ve got to get up!  The clock’s made row enough.”  That’s Wisting; I know his voice —­ I know him at home.  He was always an early bird.  A frightful crash!  That’s Lindstrom slipping out of his bunk.  But if he was late in turning out, it did not take him long to get into his clothes.  One! two! three! and there he stood in the doorway, with a little lamp in his hand.  It was now six o’clock.  He looked well; round and fat, as when I saw him last.  He is in dark blue clothes, with a knitted helmet over his head.  I should like to know why; it is certainly not cold in here.  For that matter, I have often felt it colder in kitchens at home in the winter, so that cannot be the reason.  Oh, I have it!  He is bald, and doesn’t like to show it.  That is often the way with bald men; they hate anyone seeing it.  The first thing he does is to lay the fire.  The range is under the window, and takes up half the 6 feet by 13 feet kitchen.  His method of laying a fire is the first thing that attracts my attention.  At home we generally begin by splitting sticks and laying the wood in very carefully.  But Lindstrom just shoves the wood in anyhow, all over the place.  Well, if he can make that barn, he’s clever.  I am still wondering how he will manage it, when he suddenly stoops down and picks up a can.  Without the slightest hesitation, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he pours paraffin over the wood.  Not one or two drops —­ oh no; he throws on enough to make sure.  A match —­ and then I understood how Lindstrom got it to light.  It was smartly done, I must say —­ but Hassel ought to have seen it!  Amundsen had told me something of their arrangements on the way up, and I knew Hassel was responsible for coal, wood, and oil.

The water-pot had been filled the evening before, and he had only to push it to one side to make room for the kettle, and this did not take long to boil with the heat he had set going.  The fire burned up so that it roared in the chimney —­ this fellow is not short of fuel.  Strange, what a hurry he is in to get that coffee ready!  I thought breakfast was at eight, and it is now not more than a quarter past six.  He grinds the coffee till his cheeks shake to and fro —­ incessantly.  If the quality is in proportion to the quantity, it