THE MAN WHO LOST HIS
NAME.
I
ON the second day of June, 186--, a young Norseman, Halfdan Bjerk
by name, landed on the pier at Castle Garden. He passed through the
straight and narrow gate where he was asked his name, birthplace, and
how much money he had,--at which he grew very much frightened.
"And your destination?"--demanded the gruff-looking functionary at
the desk.
"America," said the youth, and touched his hat politely.
"Do you think I have time for joking?" roared the official, with an
oath.
The Norseman ran his hand through his hair, smiled his timidly
conciliatory smile, and tried his best to look brave; but his hand trembled
and his heart thumped away at an alarmingly quickened tempo.
"Put him down for Nebraska!" cried a stout red-cheeked individual
(inwrapped in the mingled fumes of tobacco and whisky) whose function
it was to open and shut the gate.