By degrees, then, the vikings began to retire to rest.  My description of the day’s life at Framheim would be incomplete if I did not include this scene in it.  Lindstrom’s chief pride, I had been told, was that he was always the first man in bed; he would willingly sacrifice a great deal to hold this record.  As a rule, he had no difficulty in fulfilling his desire, as nobody tried to be before him; but this evening it was otherwise.  Stubberud was far advanced with his undressing when Lindstrom came in, and, seeing a chance at last of being “first in bed,” at once challenged the cook.  Lindstrom, who did not quite grasp the situation, accepted the challenge, and then the race began, and was followed by the others with great excitement.  Now Stubberud is ready, and is just going to jump into his bunk, which is over Lindstrom’s, when he suddenly feels himself clutched by the leg and held back.  Lindstrom hangs on to the leg with all his force, crying out, in the most pitiable voice:  “Wait a bit, old man, till I’m undressed too!” It reminded me rather of the man who was going to fight, and called out:  “Wait till I get a hold of you!” But the other was not to be persuaded; he was determined to win.  Then Lindstrom let go, tore off his braces —­ he had no time for more —­ and dived head first into his bunk.  Stubberud tried to protest; this was not fair, he was not undressed, and so on.

“That doesn’t matter,” replied the fat man; “I was first, all the same.”

The scene was followed with great amusement and shouts of encouragement, and ended in a storm of applause when Lindstrom disappeared into his bunk with his clothes on.  But that was not the end of the business, for his leap into the bunk was followed by a fearful crash, to which no one paid any attention in the excitement of the moment, himself least of all.  But now the consequences appeared.  The shelf along the side of his bunk, on which he kept a large assortment of things, had fallen down, and filled the bunk with rifles, ammunition, gramophone-discs, tool-boxes, sweetmeat-boxes, pipes, tins of tobacco, ash-trays, boxes of matches, etc., and there was no room left for the man himself.  He had to get out again, and his defeat was doubly hard.  With shame he acknowledged Stubberud as the victor; “but,” he added, “you shan’t be first another time.”  One by one the others turned in; books were produced —­ here and there a pipe as well —­ and in this way the last hour was passed.  At eleven o’clock precisely the lamps were put out, and the day was at an end.

Soon after, my host goes to the door, and I follow him out.  I had told him I had to leave again this evening, and he is going to see me off.  “I’ll take you as far as the depot,” he says; “the rest of the way you can manage by yourself.”  The weather has improved considerably, but it is dark —­ horribly dark.  “So that we may find the way more easily,” he says, “I’ll take my trio.  If they don’t see the way, they’ll smell it out.”  Having let loose the three dogs, who evidently wonder what the meaning of it may be, he puts a lantern on a stack of timber —­ to show him the way back, I suppose —­ and we go off.  The dogs are evidently accustomed to go this way, for they set off at once in the direction of the depot.