CHAPTER XXXVII 



WE find little difference here in Tromso since we 

 left for the cold North. Then it was sunny 

 but very cold, now all the snow has melted away 

 from the hills and they are green with belts of dark alders 

 that run up the corries from their reflections in the calm 

 fiord. The rough main street of wooden houses presents 

 the same series of little wooden doll houses, some made of 

 upright planks, some of horizontal, in subdued harmonies 

 of weathered pale green, blue, and worn slate, which would 

 be a little sad but for the summer dresses of women and 

 children, bright splashes of colour scarlets and pale blues, 

 vivid but harmonious, only a little noticeable on account 

 of the uniformity of the black and dark blue clothes of 

 all the men. 



Is it coming back from the Arctic, where there are no 

 people, or is it the atmosphere of Tromso that makes the 

 character of each individual seem so distinct ? You could 

 sketch any of the figures, men or women, in the brightly 

 painted street of doll houses, and the drawing would be 

 recognised by anyone in Tromso. 



Everyone seems to be at least on a bowing acquaintance 

 with every second person he meets. Opposite this Grand 

 (wooden) Hotel I see two of our men in dark suits and bowlers, 

 each has a little tobacco in his cheek. I know this because 

 I saw them put it in almost on the sly ; each doffs his bowler 

 as some acquaintance comes up. Larsen has barely time for 

 one whiff of his cigarette between the sedate bows which 

 they make to passers-by. Who could believe that a few 

 days ago he was in old blue dungarees and sea-boots, hauling 

 with us hand over hand on a narwhal line and Larsen 

 it is difficult to realise that a week or two ago we saw him 

 skeltering over a floe, a long, dark figure against the ice, 



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