There is something bracing in following the
adventures of men who are battling with the elements.
Mrs.Rummel: But it does not appear to have done you much good, Mr.
Tonnesen.
Hilmar: No, it certainly did not. I lay all night tossing about, only
half asleep, and dreamt that I was being chased by a hideous walrus.
Olaf (who meanwhile has come up the steps from the garden): Have you
been chased by a walrus, uncle?
Hilmar: I dreamt it, you duffer! Do you mean to say you are still
playing about with that ridiculous bow? Why don't you get hold of a
real gun?
Olaf: I should like to, but--
Hilmar: There is some sense in a thing like that; it is always an
excitement every time you fire it off.
Olaf: And then I could shoot bears, uncle. But daddy won't let me.
Mrs.Bernick: You really mustn't put such ideas into his head, Hilmar.
Hilmar: Hm! It's a nice breed we are educating up now-a-days, isn't
it! We talk a great deal about manly sports, goodness knows--but we
only play with the question, all the same; there is never any serious
inclination for the bracing discipline that lies in facing danger
manfully.
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