Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES By Hjalmar Hjorth Boysen 1877 CONTENTS THE MAN WHO LOST HIS NAME THE STORY OF AN OUTCAST A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING A SCIENTIFIC VAGABOND TRULS, THE NAMELESS ASATHOR’S VENGEANCE TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES. THE MAN WHO LOST HIS NAME. 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. “There ain’t many as go to Nebraska.” “All right, Nebraska.” The gate swung open and the pressure from behind urged the timid traveler on, while an extra push from the gate-keeper sent him flying in the direction of a board fence, where he sat down and tried to realize that he was now in the land of liberty. Halfdan Bjerk was a tall, slender-limbed youth of very delicate frame; he had a pair of wonderfully candid, unreflecting blue eyes, a smooth, clear, beardless face, and soft, wavy light hair, which was pushed back from his forehead without parting. His mouth and chin were well cut, but their lines were, perhaps, rather weak for a man. When in repose, the ensemble of his features was exceedingly pleasing and somehow reminded one of Correggio’s St. John. He had left his native land because he was an ardent republican and was abstractly convinced that man, generically and individually, lives more happily in a republic than in a monarchy. He had anticipated with keen pleasure the large, freely breathing life he was to lead in a land where every man was his neighbor’s brother, where no senseless traditions kept a jealous watch over obsolete systems and shrines, and no chilling prejudice blighted the spontaneous blossoming of the soul.