584 FARTHEST NORTH 



should be the first friend I was to meet ! Even while 

 we were handing in our telegrams the news of our 

 arrival had begun to filter through the town, and 

 people were gradually flocking together to see the 

 two polar bears who strode through the streets to 

 the hotel. I rushed in and inquired for Mohn. He 

 was in his room, number so - and - so, they told me, 

 but he was taking his siesta. I had no respect for 

 siestas at that moment; I thundered at the door and 

 tore it open. There lay Mohn on the sofa, reading, 

 with a long pipe in his mouth. He started up and 

 stared fixedly, like a madman, at the long figure standing 

 on the threshold ; his pipe fell to the ground, his face 

 twitched, and then he burst out, " Can it be true } Is 

 it Fridtjof Nansen T' I believe he was alarmed about 

 himself, thinking he had seen an apparition ; but when 

 he heard my well - known voice the tears came to his 

 eyes, and, crying, " Thank God, you're still alive !" he 

 rushed into my arms. Then came Johansen's turn. It 

 was a moment of wild rejoicing, and numberless were 

 the questions asked and answered on both sides. As 

 one thing after another came into our heads, the ques- 

 tions rained around without coherence and almost with- 

 out meaning. The whole thing seemed so incredible 

 that a long time passed before we even collected our- 

 selves sufificiently to sit down, and I could tell him in a 

 somewhat more connected fashion what experiences we 

 had gone through during these three years. But where 



