Words for Wednesday -- October 20

All of October Elephant's Child is supplying us with prompts every Wednesday. What we do to them is up to us, poem, story, shopping list, ignore ... the grand idea is to make us write. 
  Go to Elephant's Child's place to read some good stories. This is a challenge, where the old saying "The more the merrier" holds true, therefore: Please, remember to go back, read other peoples' stories there or follow their links back. And please leave a comment after reading. Challenges like this one thrives on interaction.

Today we had a photo and these words:

Horizon
Tired
Coincidence
Splashed
Holiday
Understand

  Today I'm adding another bit to the story from last Wednesday. We once again meet Paul, the bohemian painter. And Anders, from the Danisch chapters.
  I've been writing on this story on and off for at least 20 years. I hope to get a bit more done with this Autumn/Winter's prompts, when they do not allow me to finish Susan's story.
 The first two parts -- in Danish only -- can be found here and here.

  I have now translated them and placed all four pieces of this story in a sub-page called "Fodspor (Footsteps)" accessible via the eponymous tab Fodspor on top of this page.
  Once again I took up the additional challenge of using the words in the order they were given. Unfortunately splashed got left out, and I cannot find a way to add it.


     Paul easily found his seat on the train to Germany, smokers and then a middle berth, just as he had requested when he bought the ticket.
    He sat down at the window and lit his pipe. When the big watch outside said two minutes to departure, he was still alone in the compartment. Paul was glad to have the whole place to himself; it had been right to leave on a Tuesday. Just as the departure whistle sounded, the door opened and a young man with short blond hair and a small beard dropped a bag on the seat opposite him and said a brief "Hello!" and immediately went back out into the corridor.

    Anders had been running the last bit of the way to the train. It was a nice surprise that so many of his friends and the old Father Augustine had been there to say goodbye to him, but they had been so late that there had only been time for a short, warm goodbye before he received Father Augustine's blessing, and all the good wishes of the others and ran the rest of the way to the train.
    He stood in the corridor, gazing absent-mindedly at the greying horizon until the train had passed Valby and he had caught his breath again. He was slightly annoyed. He had expected to have the compartment to himself on such a weekday evening, he was tired, and had been hoping for a good night's sleep in a deserted train. Now he was going to have to share the compartment with that long-haired artist type who would probably play guitar all night. Anders went into the compartment, put his bag in the net and with a sigh let himself down on the seat opposite the long-haired man.
 
    Anders sat for a while, looking around the compartment at the pictures in the small frames on either side of the mirror opposite, and smiled quietly to himself when he saw that one of them depicted the square in Bussenville.
    Paul was actually half asleep, but the return of the other man had brought him so much back to reality that he now sat studying Anders through half-closed eyes. He followed the other's gaze, and when he saw the smile on the other's face, he was suddenly back to his school days in Bussenville.
    "But you're Anders, aren't you?" he exclaimed, "what on earth are you doing here on a Tuesday night?"
    "Yes, my name is Anders," replied the latter, "but who are you?"
    "I'm Paul. Don't you recognize me?" Paul asked, puzzled, as he brushed his hair away from his face with both hands.
    "Yes, now I can see and recognize you, Paul. What a coincidence. Are you on your way home from a long weekend party in the capital, or what?" Anders asked "I remember your partying habits from school, and ..." Anders' diatribe petered out.
    "No, I'm actually on my way to southern Germany. To a little town called Burgdorf.
    "On a holiday?"  Anders asked, surprise making his voice shrill.
    "No, I'm going there to develop my painting skills. I won a scholarship." He told Anders in few words about the painting from the snowy day.
    "I'm also on my way to Burgdorf," Anders said with joy in his voice. "I'm going to enter the novitiate there!"
    "WHAT?" Paul exclaimed, "Have you become a saint..."
    "No, of course not, but I found out that ..."
    "Tickets, please!" a voice sounded from the corridor, and a burly ticket inspector poked his head through the door. He looked at the tickets and found everything as it should be. "I understand that you already know one another," he added. "Should I keep your tickets and passports until tomorrow? That'll save you being woken up at the border and after the larger stations all the way to Munich."
    "Yes please." Anders and Paul replied in unison.