LAYING BREAKFAST 295 



as it really was. So I stood still. Lindstrom first tried 

 to put straight what he had upset in his struggle with 

 the lamp. The spirit had, of course, run out of the 

 bottle when it fell, and was now flowing all over the 

 table. This did not seem to make the slightest impres- 

 sion on him ; a little scoop with his hand, and it all 

 landed on Johansen's clothes, which were lying close 

 by. This fellow seemed to be as well off for spirit as 

 for paraffin. Then he vanished into the kitchen, but 

 reappeared immediately with plates, cups, knives and 

 forks. Lindstrom's laying of the breakfast-table was 

 the finest clattering performance I have ever heard. 

 If he wanted to put a spoon into a cup, he did not do it 

 in the ordinary way ; no, he put down the cup, lifted the 

 spoon high in the air, and then dropped it into the cup. 

 The noise he made in this way was infernal. Now 

 I began to see why Amundsen had got up so early; he 

 wanted to escape this process of laying the table, I 

 expect. But this gave me at once an insight into the 

 good-humour of the gentlemen in bed: if this had 

 happened anywhere else, Lindstrom would have had 

 a boot at his head. But here they must have been the 

 most peaceable men in the world. 



Meanwhile I had had time to look around me. 

 Close to the door where I was standing a pipe came 

 down to the floor. It struck me at once that this was 

 a ventilating-pipe. I bent down and put my hand over 

 the opening; there was not so much as a hint of air to 



