THE guests of Hamlet's Town---that is what the thirty-five boys were who were entertained by the families of Elsinore in 1928. They stayed right in the shadows of his castle on the Sound, and near his "grave." A few who are '"in the inside" will smile at this word, because no one knows surely where Hamlet is buried. It may be in any of two or three places in Denmark, and the always-ready Danish wit has it that under the tombstone in Elsinore is buried---a cat! Cat or no cat, however, Hamlet's name is linked closely with Elsinore, and so is most of Denmark's naval history. Where today dozens of steamers and sailing vessels pass the watchtower of the castle and the Danish flag greets the vessels in friendliness, guns stood ready in the old days to send a message of powder and lead if the captains did not stop to pay duty at this entrance to Danish waters. Millions of rich cargoes were halted and traders of all nations poured tribute into the King's treasury. Quite a change nowadays from the time when the seas were not open, but were a source of revenue to their rightful owners, and when Elsinore was the main gatekeeper of Denmark.
At present it was just one of many towns, as calm and restful as any, except when the trains arrived with their loads of people headed for the ferries to Sweden, fifteen minutes away across the Sound; or when groups of Swedes flocked to Denmark to enjoy themselves in Copenhagen, which was within easy reach of Elsinore, and where entertainment was tempting to all.
One night, however, no one was city-bound---the night of the party at the Preparatory School. For days its students had made preparations for this get-together of guests and host members and had turned the quiet lecture rooms of scholars into noisy halls of merriment, under the auspices of Mr. A. V. C. Jensen, its headmaster, the guiding spirit of all Elsinore's hospitality. Even his own students may not have recognized him as he shed all his usual dignity and greeted the foreign visitors as cordially as if they were old friends. He must have been proud as he heard the whole party sing a song which his language pupils had written to the tune of "It's, a Long, Long Way to Tipperary." It did not quite equal Shakespeare's English, to be sure; but not even the great poet could have been more sincere than they were in. these two stanzas:
|Welcome here to Denmark, |
We are glad to see you-yes!
You are well-known in the streets,
And well-known is your dress;
Such a color we have never seen---
And such a shoe!
But now we all will have a coat
And trousers just like you.
It's a long way to little Denmark
From U. S. A. to go;
But you came and were our friends,
And you got our land to know.
You saw Copenhagen, Carlsberg, Tivoli,
And you have shaken hands with a Danish host-family.
|We have heard it said that you |
Would make an awful noise;
But we now have seen you are
Like all the Danish boys.
Some have said: U. S. is only
Dollars, film, and sport;
But we have seen that in your heads
Is more than Jazz and Ford.
When you go from our little Denmark
To your big U. S. A.,
Then remember our land and nation
Our girls---and when you say,
"Good-bye Copenhagen, Farewell Elsinore,"
We say, "Thank you for your visit,
You must come once more."
Surely, the boys wanted to come again to visit Hamlet's Elsinore, their friends, the castle, the Sound, and---the cat!
AT the start the game between Copenhagen and the boys of 1928 was not quite even because, from the visit of a group the previous year, the city knew what to expect, whereas Copenhagen was entirely strange to the newcomers. They flocked there by ,steamer and train in separate groups, a total of three hundred who had been scattered for two weeks in different towns and cities in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. They were met on wharves and on railroad platforms by Copenhagen reception committees, individual hosts, curious citizens, and by distinguished fellow countrymen. As a matter of fact, the first to meet them was their own United States Minister to Denmark, Mr. Percival Dodge; but before he could get a chance even to shake hands with them, they had to make known that they finally had reached the Crossroads of Scandinavia. After a speech which stopped him right in the middle of the gangplank, they gave Copenhagen what it expected, the most deafening cheer it had ever heard, so jubilant that it drowned even the shrill whistle of the steamer. "Sure, they are here!" said the Copenhageners. "The Indians are in town!" Judging by the makes of private cars which picked them up with bag and baggage, it looked as if the organizing committee of Husmoderforeiningerne (the Danish Housewives' Association), headed by Mrs. Carla Meyer, its president, had mobilized the cream of Copenhagen society. She must have felt justly proud as she welcomed the guests and saw them scatter with their hosts over the city and vicinity. If Copenhagen had been a step ahead at the start, the boys were not slow in catching up, and within two weeks they knew more about the city and its people than a tourist would ever have learned.
De Ferstewske Blade, the conservative newspaper concern, took the initiative in organizing a tour of the city and never have any busses been loaded with three hundred livelier boys setting out on a sightseeing expedition, the spirit of which could be expressed in the three Words Air, Earth, and Water---or near-Water. The Air was at the flying field, where they were fortunate enough to see and hear a number of army and navy planes roar across the sky. The spectacle detained many so long that the last bus, an old faithful Chevrolet, got about two loads more than its share, to the obvious dismay of the Danish driver. Nobody understood his high-pitched Danish protests, and he fitted well into the picture. He was all up in the air! The next stop was in a museum, with hundreds of famous statues unearthed from ancient soil. "It was a splendid museum filled with rare pieces of art," wrote one of the boys. "We entered by twos and fifties. White looked intellectual, while Burrall looked blank. In fact there were three types at the place---those who tried to look intellectual, those who didn't; and those who didn't look at all. Perhaps a thorough tour was made in the forty-five minutes we spent there; perhaps not!" According to this honest report, the masterpieces of the Earth had less appeal than the masters of the Air, and it is doubtful if either could hold its own against the power of the third element, the Water, or, to be exact again, near-Water. It was found at the Carlsberg Breweries. Luncheon was served there---mountains of lunch and all kinds of beverages, tea, coffee, and different-colored soft drinks, the most favored being the yellow, sparkling Citron Vand, which simply meant "lemon pop," and then---here forgiveness must be asked---beer. This beverage had a peculiar effect upon the boys. They sang louder, they talked more freely, and their voices rang wilder when they cheered Mr. Vagn Jacobsen, the president of Carlsberg, for his hospitality, and Mr. Helweg-Larsen, editor-in-chief of Dagens Nyheder, for arranging the day's sight-seeing. One who saw them or heard them leave the breweries would think that they had been victims of a treacherous attack on the eighteenth bulwark of the American Constitution. Anyone on the inside, however, had a laugh, because what they had been served had been near-beer, or in other words practically water!
The big city offered all kinds of manufacturing plants, and it is difficult to say whether the Carlsberg and Tuborg Breweries or the Enigheden Works appealed the most. In the latter they were shown the processes of pasteurizing and bottling milk. It is probable, though, that Carlsberg and Tuborg got a higher score, because it was novel to watch beer brewed and distributed as legally as it was served in the homes. It was the national beverage, and that the milk-truck drivers had not been brought up on milk alone was obvious. The majority of the boys, however, preferred Citron Vand to beer, and a pint of cold milk put both entirely out of the running.
The spectators who had seen the boys scatter with their hosts in limousines might doubt that they would have their attention called to the fact that they were guests in a city whose eight hundred thousand citizens lived under a social democratic regime. It would not have been fair if they had left the capital without becoming acquainted with its political leaders and the results of their fight for social justice. To be sure, they could see such results in its clean streets, with their obvious lack of signs of poverty, let alone suffering; in the apparent contentedness in its manufacturing plants, and in its atmosphere of equality; but they had to meet its laborers and labor leaders face to face to appreciate the task they had accomplished.
As guests of Socialdemokraten, the leading labor paper, they gathered in the People's House. They thronged the floor side by side with regular laborers and their wives, and the galleries of the hall were filled with the overflow when Mr. Aage Hermann, the associate editor, introduced Peder Hedebol, the social democratic mayor of the city. He opened the program with a lecture on the labor movement, its development through unions, cooperative organizations, and political clubs, until it obtained the majority and guided the government of the city. "You have all tried to suffer from the want of candy, cigarettes, and chewing gum," he said, "but the labor movement was started and carried through by those and for those who have suffered from the want of daily bread, but who now share happiness with people who never have known suffering from anything at all." So vividly and naturally was the subject presented that one of the boys afterwards said: "But the mayor didn't talk like a politician!" The impression of progress towards social happiness for everybody was increased as Mr. Frederik Dalgaard described the methods and results of the voluntary adult labor education, not only among the city laborers but among the poorest farm hands. On this background it was an eye-opener to hear Herbert Ball of Dartmouth College tell how American students worked their way through college and Angus Gordon of Mercersburg Academy, Pennsylvania, relate how social conditions in Denmark impressed him. All the talks had, of course, to be translated for the benefit of the Danish labor audience, while all could grasp the fervor and enthusiasm of their sons and daughters, who presented a pacifist pageant in music and recitations. The leader of the boys thanked Socialdemokraten for having given the boys an opportunity of meeting Copenhagen's laborers and their families and was not far from the truth in stating that although most of the boys might forget this meeting, some of them had grasped an understanding of a successful labor struggle.
What a contrast between the People's House and the domed ballroom of Hôtel d'Angleterre and its throngs of gay preparatory school girls! They were invited to a tea-dance with the boys, and all were the guests of the Berlingske Tidende, Copenhagen's largest paper.
Chaperoned by headmistresses who were curious as to how this affair would come off, they soon convinced all educators present that nobody needed any tutoring in the subjects of the afternoon. Boys and girls alike were so adept at dancing that it looked as if they had never learned to do anything else. Mr. Svenn Poulsen, the editor-in-chief, could see with half an eye that the tea-dance was a success. So was Mr. Christian Gottschalch, a typical representative of Danish college spirit, in his renditions of humorous songs, one of which was supposed to be sung by an honest but silly sailor. He tried to protect himself by his remark: "When I act like a fool, it isn't nature, it's art!" A roar of applause added to his many laurels, as it did to the popularity of Dave and Kip Behrhorst of Allegheny College for their duet of typical American college songs accompanied on violin and banjo. Herbert Ball put everybody on the dancing track again after his speech of thanks to the Berlingske Tidende. The only disappointment was that three hundred boys could not dance with all six hundred Danish girls during two short hours, but there was something else awaiting them. The girls had to retire to do their home work for the next day's classes., and the boys to get ready. for possibly the greatest and most formal event on their whole Copenhagen program.
"It can't be done!" These words echoed in the ears of the leader as he slid into his seat in the Opera. In planning the program he had dreamed of an Opera night, and all in Copenhagen shook their heads. He was told that it was not within the limits of possibility and that the management of the Opera would not even listen to the proposition. Whereupon he went directly to the manager, and in less than three minutes everything was decided upon from date to program, and now both of them side by side in the first row were smiling at all the sceptics. They were watching a house crowded from the roof to the pit with families dressed for the occasion, seated with their American friends, who were the honorary guests of the Royal Danish Opera. The manager smiled also, because a full house on one of the first nights of the season was an occurrence as unusual as it was welcome. He, as well as the leader, was not unaware that festivity and business can go hand in hand.
The curtain went up for the opera "Il Pagliacci," and eyes and ears were directed towards the stage. Many an American eye, however, ever towards the looked stealthily up toward King's box. It was dark and empty.
Why Royal Opera when no Royalty was there, they thought, and found it difficult to concentrate on the musical performance on the stage. Suddenly somebody moved in the balcony box, and as rapid fire it spread from mouth to mouth---the King! The whole dark room became animated, and the concluding ballet finished in a whirling ecstasy of grace and beauty as the curtain came down under an outburst of genuine youthful applause.
The evening had been saved, and the King had saved it. But how would it be possible to have him stay just one minute after the performance and receive the ovation which the boys, the host families, and all others wanted to bring him for his presence? It was well known by Danes that he came and left just like any ordinary citizen. So we may just as well reveal here that on this evening a little trick was played on His Majesty. Between the acts the manager and the leader had been back stage and whispered a few words in the ear of the opera conductor and, as soon as the curtain went down, he immediately struck up the Danish national anthem. All had to rise, and the King, too! While the majestic tune of "King Christian stood at lofty mast . . ." swelled through the auditorium, the boys could leisurely study the King and the Queen. They were not bathed in royal splendor, but looked like two unpretentious, fine Danes, as they remained and listened to a few words. "We are grateful that the American boys have been honored by being guests of the Royal Danish Opera. They have seen how the Danish people gather with their leaders in work and play. In the hope that the people always may stay united with its leaders, let's give His Majesty the King a "ninefold cheer!" The ovation thundered under the dome and, while the King and Queen bowed gracefully to the happy audience and left, the leader turned to Mr. William Norrie, the manager, shook his hand in gratitude, and said: "It can be done, and you did it!"
Indeed, Copenhagen proved to be the Crossroads of Scandinavia from whatever angle you looked at it, but it took a trip through its harbors to find out that it also was the key port of northern Europe. Comfortably slouched all over a, small steamer of the United Steamship Company, the mother company of the Scandinavian-American Line, the boys passed by a swarm of liners, freighters, and sailing vessels. There was the beautiful five-master København, the merchant training vessel which disappeared a few months later in the Antartic waters without a single trace left of all its officers and crew of sixty-fine Danish lads; there were the sturdy vessels which plied between Denmark and the icy Arctic waters of Greenland, and there the countless freighters pulling in at the wharves. On one side were the truck gardens of Amager, the island which had been colonized four centuries ago by expert Dutch farmers whose descendants still supplied the city with their products at the flower market, so picturesque in its brilliant colors and the national costumes of its vendors. On the opposite side were the mighty assembly plants of Ford and General Motors on a background of the city's slender steeples towering over warehouses, grain elevators, and lines of funnels and masts. At the harbor entrance were the green slopes of the fortifications in front of which Nelson's brigs had showered the Danish navy with bombs and shells a hundred years ago and had set the city on fire. Now the guns of the fortresses were practically dismantled in one of many steps towards making Denmark the first nation to disarm entirely and entrust its security to peaceful international negotiations. No threat seemed likely to interrupt the atmosphere of its gaily colored oil tanks, busy shipyards, and the constant coming and going of craft at this gateway of the Baltic.
Then came the Tivoli night, one of many in this favorite meeting place of Copenhagen; but this is particular night was the most memorable of all, because they were there as the guests of the management on an evening when all of Copenhagen seemed to be in the garden, "What a crowd!" wrote one of the boys. "Fifth Avenue at 42nd Street is the wide-open spaces compared with Tivoli last night. I counted to forty-nine thousand seven hundred and thirty-nine persons.; then I lost count, and before I got started again the fireworks went off and spoiled everything. Tivoli is O.K. We are considering having Rockefeller finance its removal to America, so that everybody over there may have a good time!"
Yet it hardly compared with the Arena Night. On this occasion there were only seven hundred people present, but they were select people, and moreover they were invited by still more select celebrities---by a joint committee under the auspices of the Tourist Association of Denmark and the Rotary Club of Copenhagen: his Excellency J. Byskov, Minister of Education, chairman; the King's Chamberlain J. Clan, president of the Tourist Association of Denmark; A. C. Højberg Christensen, Ph.D., chief supervisor of Higher Education; E. Haderup, president of the Rotary Club of Copenhagen; Peder Hedebol and Ernst Kaper, two of the five mayors of Copenhagen; Mrs. Carla Meyer, president of the National Housewives' Association; A. J. Poulsen, chief of the Foreign Office Press Department; and in addition to the celebrities, the boys' leader.
Well might the boys have been as embarrassed as they were impressed, if it had not been for the fact that they had learned by now to appreciate the cordiality of all Danes, celebrities, and plain folk alike, whether alone or in groups. They knew the food, the manners, the sincerity of their conversation, as of their speeches, which this evening were broadcast to the far corners. They appreciated Mr. Clan's words about Denmark's gratitude for the hospitality of American families towards Danish boys who had been entertained in America's private homes "just as you have been entertained in Danish homes." "No, no," thought some of the boys, "nothing can be like that." But their protest was drowned by a cheer for America, the land of the free. They agreed fully with Mr. Hedebol in his joking remarks about how difficult it was for a small country to match records with a country which excelled in records of the biggest of this and that. Yet Denmark had contributed men and things to the development of civilization like Hans Christian Andersen, H. C. Ørsted's finding of electro-magnetism, and the Diesel boat engine, proving that the small nations had their mission in the progress of the world. The boys could not have found a better representative to interpret their appreciation and respect for all Denmark's contributions than Charles Mclntyre of Michigan University. After the speeches the microphone had been shut off, or it would have brought to all homes in Denmark the inspiring music and the sounds of the steps of fourteen hundred dancing feet adding a new record to the annals of a big and a small nation, the Danish-American dancing record of the Arena Ballroom.
So far everything in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden had been in the hands of the Scandinavians, and they had not given the boys a single chance to do a thing except take in whatever was offered. The date of their return to America was approaching, and the probability that they would never see all the cordial people again was preying on their mind. There was no time to lose; they simply had to find a way in which they could manifest their desire as a group to reciprocate, if only in a small way, the numerous things they had enjoyed. True to American fashion, a committee was appointed, and it was put up to its members to find a way out of this dilemma. They announced publicly: "We wish to invite all Scandinavian host families, representatives of institutions, organizations, and clubs, all those who have received and entertained us, to the American Boys' Farewell Luncheon, and to put it plainly---We Must See You All." A big order, indeed, knowing that all those invited lived scattered on islands, in towns and cities all over Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, hundreds of miles away, and that some of them maybe had never undertaken a Copenhagen trip before and others required a really big occasion to venture so far away.
The farewell luncheon must have offered this occasion, because, as the date came around, the boys---this time as hosts---accompanied to the decorated tables, in the Wivel's Restaurant in Copenhagen, officials and family members---all as their luncheon guests---a total of around eight hundred Danes, Norwegians, Swedes, and Americans.
The luncheon became---well, as long as it was arranged by boys, we might just as well say it---it became a wow! And it was conducted in line with the desire to have time to chat and talk and to revive personal memories. So the menu was simply steak and apple pie; a special printed program covered all group memories, and the speeches were to be short and snappy. Hr. Generalkonsol Poul Holm lived up to this requirement. His own boy had taken part in the world-wide correspondence of boys and had been entertained in America, while Mr. and Mrs. Holm had entertained two American boys in their Danish home; so from experience, none could better sum up the spirit of the international interchange of boys as evidenced in this speech.
"Ladies and Gentlemen: Only a few years ago here in Denmark we heard about the MY FRIEND ABROAD movement, and it was just in its beginning. Many of us, I am sure, have followed it regularly and with keen interest. I have read many of approximately two hundred letters which my boy has received during these years, from contemporaries in thirty nations in the five parts of the world. It is obvious to we that a correspondence like this among the coming generation is of great importance. It contributes to a foundation of international understanding and offers not only the knowledge of many conditions around the world, but also increases the desire to get out and see things with one's own eyes. So it was only natural that Dr. Knudsen took one step more when he originated these trips to give the boys an opportunity to get acquainted with countries and people abroad and in a much better and a more pleasant way than as tourists. He succeeded in an incredibly short time in finding access to hundreds of private homes who wished to receive the boys as their guests. Last year one hundred boys from the United States were entertained here in Denmark. This year the number has been increased to three hundred from two hundred schools and colleges. We who have been 'fathers and mothers' to the boys for two weeks have enjoyed having them in our homes, which have been filled by their refreshing unspoiled manners, and it has been a great pleasure to show them things and watch their great interest in what they have seen.
"From Denmark this year only the small number of sixty-three boys went to America. We have heard from the participants about the unique reception they have had there, about the very cordial hospitality which they have met everywhere in the American homes, and about their wholesome, pleasant life in private camps. Everywhere their hosts have outdone one another in showing them as much as possible of their country. So it is to be wished that it be made possible during years to come for several thousand boys to be enabled to get out into the world in this manner under the leadership of My FRIEND ABROAD. It would undoubtedly be a sound investment if the countries appropriated annual amounts for this purpose. In Denmark the authorities have in a way already approved of the idea by extending the summer vacation for the American-bound participants.
"When our sons on July 4th left for America, many parents, I am sure, gave thought to the difference between our sons' departure and many, many parents' leave-taking with their sons in 1914. At that departure the sons left for a World War to become unimaginably extensive and gruesome. At our leave-taking our sons left to give their share to a task done all over the world to prevent and prohibit another war. Ladies and gentlemen, let's all unite in a cheer for My FRIEND ABROAD and its originator!"
This speech was very serious; but who could remain serious when a cry went up for "Miller, we want Miller!" and Jim Miller of Shady Side Academy, Pittsburgh, in one jump stood on the music stand and led the cheer. More tongues loosened up in conversation, more local incidents were recalled, more signs of friendship were shown, until Mr. Clayton Ernst rose, and, in words fitting as only he could make them, expressed the gratitude of all the Americans. "Best of all about this international interchange," he said, "is the fact that it is spontaneous---an informal movement from home to home. We are grateful to the three Scandinavian countries, because they have trusted us so much as to open their homes to us. Most grateful we are to Denmark, who has trusted us by sending her sons across to our homes. Your unlimited confidence has gripped our boys. You have given them your door keys and, as one of them said to me, 'Nobody expected us to disappear with their silverware.' You have given us not only the keys of your front doors but also the keys of your hearts, and we will leave you with an understanding and a love which will match yours." Of course, boys do not wear their hearts on their sleeves, nor are they inclined to express their feelings, but every single one of them would have been ready to sign these words.
The boys' leader had his last opportunity to add his gratitude to that of the boys. He could not but compare their ignorance when they set out from America with what he had seen develop during their stay in Scandinavia. On their arrival they had known practically nothing of that part of the world, let alone the people. To them they had all been Scandinavians, cousins of the Big Swedes, the potato-digging Danes, and the rail-splitting Norwegians. Now they had come to know them so intimately that they could appreciate even their brotherly kidding among themselves. Not until this visit to their countries had they appreciated the many jokes about them in the States, as the one about the Swede who came down from northern Michigan and reported to the nearest sheriff---he was a Swede, too, of course; they are all Swedes out there---that he had killed two Norwegians up in the woods, and what should he do about it? The sheriff replied: "You are out of luck, Karl, the bounty on Norwegians went out of effect six weeks ago!" Now their ignorance had been replaced not only by knowledge, but by understanding and in many cases intimate friendships, as was shown by their sitting together side by side, chatting, joking, and kidding with Danes, Norwegians, and Swedes---cousins among themselves, to be sure, but now also cousins of the Americans.
By this time the first reply arrived to telegrams which the boys had sent to each of the three Scandinavian kings: "Three hundred American boys and leaders who have enjoyed the hospitality of the homes of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, gathered with our hosts and hostesses at a farewell luncheon in Copenhagen, beg to express our admiration and love for the people of the three countries." The three replies read:
"My best thanks and greetings. Christian R." (Denmark.)
"I thank you and your American companions for your telegram and I hope you may have a safe journey home, Haakon R." (Norway.)
"The king has ordered me to express his best thanks for your kind telegram. Sandgren, Private Secretary to His Majesty the King." (Sweden.)
So everything was complete, with gracious greetings from the Kings, cordial contacts with the officials from towns and cities, and friendly familiarity with good people. What more could be expected?
How difficult to tear yourself loose from Copenhagen. But it had to be done, and it had to be done on time. No liner would wait for anyone, and the boys knew it, but would they not hesitate just the same? Probably, and so they found the following bedtime story published in one of the Copenhagen papers. It was well intended, but unfortunately quite a number of guests and hosts and hostesses never went to bed the last night.
"Once upon a time there was a little American boy in Scandinavian homes. He read in the Daily News that the boat left at 11 A.M. Wednesday morning, and everybody else told him when to be there; but he was a careless little boy, and you know what happens to careless little boys. And so at 11 A.M. Wednesday, he was not there; and so when he did get there, at 11.30, the S.S. United States was half-way across the ocean, or at least several long jumps away from the dock. And so he cried, 'What shall I do?' but nobody told him what to do and so he didn't.
"And then he only had four kroners left, because he had spent all his money in Copenhagen; so he wired his father, and his father said, 'It serves you right. I won't send you any more money.' Oh, if I had only been at the boat on time!
"So then he was very, very hungry; so he sold his clothes and then he spent all that money, and he had nothing to eat and no place to sleep and he didn't know what to do. One day as he was walking along the canal he didn't find any rich bankers to save from drowning, and nobody would even give him a banana, and none of the girls loved him any more, and his shoes were thin with holes in the bottom; so then it began to snow. So a big ugly policeman with red whiskers said to him, 'Where do you live?" and he said, 'I have no home,' and the policeman said, 'Come with me,' and so he did. Then the policeman put him in a dark dungeon and he didn't like it. One day while be was in the very dark dungeon a great, great big bear came and ate him all up. And the moral of this story is be at the boat by 10 A.M. Wednesday and that all your baggage must be there at 9 A.m. and this will happen to you if you don't, watch out!
"Good night, kiddies.
Uncle Brooks had no reason to worry as he walked up the gangplank of the S.S. United States the following morning. They were all there, and so many that it was difficult to find a special vantage point from which to catch a last glimpse of dear Danish friends. Quite a job, to be sure, to spot them in the mass of curious Copenhageners who thronged the wharf. Naturally the Copenhagen news reporters were curious to know how the city had come out in this game of hospitality with the stiff competition from Norway and Sweden and half-a-dozen Danish towns. They just had to look over the liner and see how hard it was to say good-bye, and they would be convinced of what Copenhagen had achieved. Even when the liner swung out in open and the streamers broke, the boys wanted to keep up the contact, a shower of hats and caps sailed through the air aimed at some in particular in the mass on the wharf, but taken possession of by whoever grasped it---a last token of contact between a congenial crowd of boys who kept under their surface of noise and case a quiet memory in their hearts of a kind and generous city.
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