erally eat victuals," replied Scott, picking up a slice of bread
on which was laid a very thin slice of smoked salmon. "That's not
bad."

The waiter passed to Laybold a small plate of sandwiches, filled with
a kind of fish-spawn, black and shining. The student took a huge bite
of one of them, but a moment elapsed before he realized the taste of
the interior of the sandwich; then, with the ugliest face a boy could
assume, he rushed to the door, and violently ejected the contents of
his mouth into the street.

"What's the matter?" demanded the waiter, struggling to keep from
laughing.

"What abominably nasty stuff!" exclaimed Laybold. "It's just like fish
slime."

"Don't you like it, Laybold?" asked Scott, coolly.

"Like it? I don't like it."

"Everybody in Sweden eats it," said the waiter.

"What's the matter with it? Is it like defunct cat?" asked Scott.

"More like defunct fish. Try it."

"I will, my lad," added Scott, taking a liberal bite of one of the
sandwiches.

"How is it?" inquired Laybold.

"First rate; that's the diet for me."

"Very good," said the waiter.

"You don't mean to say you like that stuff, Scott."

"The proof of the pudding is the eating of the bag. I do like it, even
better than 'finkel.'"

"I don't believe it. No one with a Christian stomach could eat such
stuff."

"You judge by your own experience. I say it is good. Yours isn't a
Christian stomach, and that's the reason you don't like it."

"You are a heathen, Scott."

"Heathen enough to know what's good."

"Some more finkel, sir?" suggested the waiter.

"No more finkel for me," replied Scott, whose head was beginning to
whirl like a top.

"Better take some more," laughed Laybold, who was in the same
condition.

"I can't stop to take any more; I'm hungry," replied Scott, who
continued to devour the various viands on the table, till his
companion's patience was exhausted.

"Come, Scott, we shall be late at the landing."

"We won't go home till morning," chanted the boozy student.

"I will go now;" and Laybold stood up, and tried to walk to the
door--a feat which he accomplished with no little difficulty.

"Don't be in a hurry, my boy. Come and take some finkel."

"I don't want any finkel."

"Then come and pay the bill. I shall clean out this concern if I stay
any longer."

"How much, waiter?" stammered Laybold.

"One riksdaler."

"Cheap enough. I should have been broken if they charged by the pound
for