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<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dry Fish and Wet, by
Anthon Bernhard Elias Nilsen

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Dry Fish and Wet
       Tales from a Norwegian Seaport

Author: Anthon Bernhard Elias Nilsen

Translator: W. Worster

Release Date: April 22, 2011 [EBook #35918]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRY FISH AND WET ***




Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)






</pre>


<div class="trnote">
<h2>Transcriber's note</h2>
<p>Obvious typographer's errors have been corrected, but the author's
spelling has otherwise been retained. A <a href="#trcorrections">list
of word corrections</a> can be found after the book.</p>
</div>



<h1 class="topmarg caps">Dry Fish and Wet</h1>

<hr class="w45" />

<p class="center italic">Translated from the Norwegian<br />
by <span class="smcap">W. Worster</span>, M.A.</p>

<hr class="w65" />


<p class="center caps size250">Dry Fish and Wet</p>


<p class="center size150">Tales from a Norwegian Seaport</p>

<p class="center">BY<br />
<span class="size150">ELIAS KRÆMMER</span></p>

<p class="center">GYLDENDAL<br />
<span class="smaller">11 HANOVER SQUARE, LONDON, W. 1<br />
COPENHAGEN · CHRISTIANIA<br />
1922</span></p>


<hr class="w65" />

<h2 class="caps">Contents</h2>

<p class="toc">&nbsp;<span class="num caps">Page</span></p>
<ol class="toc">
<li><a href="#I" class="smcap">The Town</a> <span class="num">1</span></li>
<li><a href="#II" class="smcap">Knut G. Holm</a> <span class="num">4</span></li>
<li><a href="#III" class="smcap">Bramsen</a> <span class="num">25</span></li>
<li><a href="#IV" class="smcap">Hermansen of the Bank</a> <span class="num">36</span></li>
<li><a href="#V" class="smcap">Mrs. Rantzau's Story</a> <span class="num">56</span></li>
<li><a href="#VI" class="smcap">"Rebecca and the Camels"</a> <span class="num">73</span></li>
<li><a href="#VII" class="smcap">Holm &amp; Son</a> <span class="num">86</span></li>
<li><a href="#VIII" class="smcap">Malla Trap</a> <span class="num">101</span></li>
<li><a href="#IX" class="smcap">Clapham Junction</a> <span class="num">115</span></li>
<li><a href="#X" class="smcap">The Ship comes Home</a> <span class="num">131</span></li>
<li><a href="#XI" class="smcap">The Concert</a> <span class="num">136</span></li>
<li><a href="#XII" class="smcap">Old Nick</a> <span class="num">141</span></li>
<li><a href="#XIII" class="smcap">Cilia</a> <span class="num">160</span></li>
<li><a href="#XIV" class="smcap">A Royal Visit</a> <span class="num">189</span></li>
<li><a href="#XV" class="smcap">Peter Oiland</a> <span class="num">200</span></li>
<li><a href="#XVI" class="smcap">Emilie Rantzau</a> <span class="num">213</span></li>
<li><a href="#XVII" class="smcap">The <i>Eva Maria</i></a> <span class="num">239</span></li>
<li><a href="#XVIII" class="smcap">The <i>Henrik Ibsen</i></a> <span class="num">250</span></li>
<li><a href="#XIX" class="smcap">Nils Petter's Legacy</a> <span class="num">265</span></li>
<li><a href="#XX" class="smcap">The Admiral</a> <span class="num">277</span></li>
<li><a href="#XXI" class="smcap">Dirrik</a> <span class="num">311</span></li>
</ol>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_1" id="Page_1" title="[Pg 1]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I<br />
THE TOWN</h2>


<p>The last census showed a population of 19,991
inhabitants, but if anyone asked "Holm at
the Corner" how big the place was, he would
say "between twenty and thirty thousand"&mdash;a figure
he considered reasonable enough, counting the annual
increment in the families he knew.</p>

<p>The town had its own traditions. Natives could
speak with pride of the days, now long passed, when
the firms of C. B. Taline and Veuve Erik Strom had
great cargoes of coffee coming direct from Rio, while
Danish vessels by the dozen lay alongside the warehouses
discharging corn, and unwieldy Dutchmen
took in baulks large enough to cut up into arm-chair
sections&mdash;ay, there was proper timber in those days,
not like the thin weedy sticks that come down the
river now!</p>

<p>And the place had other memories, apart from trade
and commerce. There was a whole gallery of clerics
whose brilliant names cast a glow of distinction long
after they themselves were dead and gone; old men<a class="pagenum" name="Page_2" id="Page_2" title="[Pg 2]"></a>
remembered them, and the town could feel itself, as
it were, related to episcopal sees all over the country.
Great trading houses of old standing came to ruin,
fortunes were shattered, and crisis after crisis came
and went, but every such period merely added a fresh
chapter to the history of the town, making new stories
for fathers to tell their sons. In course of time, a
whole collection of such stories had grown up about
these merchant princes, for trade was, after all, the
chief interest of the place and so remained. When
the old men got together, talk would invariably turn
upon such matters as Nils Berg's grand speculations in
the Crimean War, or the disastrous failure of Balle &amp;
Co.; while the younger ones, who were in the swim,
enlisted further shareholders in their factories and
ship-owning concerns. It was a town with plenty of
grit in it, no lack of young stock to carry on the work.</p>

<p>True, there were times when it seemed to languish,
to be dwindling away, when periods of crisis had swept
away what appeared to be its chief support; but a
breathing space was all that was needed, and soon the
old spirit was awake once more, and life went on as
bravely as before.</p>

<p>And so it went on for generation after generation,
while the river flowed, broad and smooth as ever, down
the valley, pouring its ice-water into the fjord each
spring. Up the hillsides on either hand the roads
turned up and curved among thicket and bush, and
the higher one climbed the clearer showed the town
below with its rows of houses and its churches.</p>

<p>Those who were born in the town and had spent
their youth there, but whom fate had later moved to
other parts of the country, made it a practice, when<a class="pagenum" name="Page_3" id="Page_3" title="[Pg 3]"></a>
they came home, to climb the hillside and look out
over the town, as it lay there rich in memories. And
the longer one had been away, the stronger they
seemed to grow; for there is a strange power in such
memories of a little, old town.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_4" id="Page_4" title="[Pg 4]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II<br />
KNUT G. HOLM</h2>


<p>Knut G. Holm had had his ups and downs;
no one knew exactly how he stood. Failure
and crisis had raged about him, and many
a time public opinion had given him but a short while
to keep above water himself, but he always managed
to get through somehow, though there were times
when he had not credit for five shillings, when the
commercial travellers gave his corner premises the
stealthy go-by, in the confident belief that he would
put his shutters up next day. But he never did. And
at last it grew to a proverb, that Knut G. Holm was
like a cat; you might throw him out of a top-floor
window, but he would always land on his feet in the
end!</p>

<p>In the little office behind the shop there was always
a little gathering before dinner-time, between one and
two, to hear Holm holding forth; for he was a man
with an unusual gift of speech, and whatever might
happen in the place, he was always the first to get
hold of it.</p>

<p>Dealer Vagle was a fool to pay £1600 for that dairy
farm&mdash;Knut Holm had no hesitation in saying as
much; nor was he afraid to make public his opinion
that Jorgensen the hatter was not such a fool as he<a class="pagenum" name="Page_5" id="Page_5" title="[Pg 5]"></a>
looked in selling the property referred to. Everyone
knew Holm's "gossip-shop," as the office was generally
called, but no one took offence at his extravagant
talk, for all knew he meant no harm, but was really
one of the kindliest of men.</p>

<p>He was always terribly busy, for he had a hand in
everything, from the Silicate Products Company, of
which he was a director, to the machine shops, of which
he was chairman, and which paid a steady 20 per cent.
per annum.</p>

<p>Knut Holm was no longer a youth, he was nearing
fifty-seven; but to judge from his fair-haired, rotund
figure as one met him in the street, always with his
coat unbuttoned and his silk hat at a rakish angle,
one would have set him down as ten years younger.</p>

<p>There was a peculiar briskness in his gait as he walked
up the street in business hours, stopping to speak
with every soul he met, and yet with such haste that
the person last addressed would generally be left staring
open-mouthed, without having had the chance of
uttering a syllable.</p>

<p>Holm had long been thinking of getting in a lady
clerk, a reliable person who could look after the office
and keep the books up to date. Peder Clasen and
Garner had both been with him for many years, but
both felt more at home outside in the shop, and
never troubled about bookkeeping more than strictly
necessary, and hardly that, with the result that the
books were generally half a year behind. Nothing
had come of the lady-clerk idea, however, until one
day Dr. Blok looked in and asked if Holm could find
any use for a young lady he knew, and could safely
recommend, a Miss Betty Rantzau. Her mother<a class="pagenum" name="Page_6" id="Page_6" title="[Pg 6]"></a>
taught singing; had come to the town some six months
before; and the daughter was a willing and well-educated
girl; it would be a good action to find her
something to do. Clasen and Garner, not to speak of
Holm himself, awaited her arrival with considerable
interest. She was tall and slender, with a wealth of
fair hair, and pretty teeth that showed when she
smiled. She offered her hand with frank kindliness
to Clasen as she came in. "So we are to work together,"
she said. "Very kind of you, I'm sure,"
stammered Clasen in confusion. "Mr. Holm is in
the office; will you please to go in?"</p>

<p>Soon after, she was duly installed on the high stool
in the office, with Holm himself sitting opposite, at
the other side of the desk. She managed the old daybook
with surprising ease; Holm glanced at her from
time to time as she worked. He found it difficult to
open conversation; it was queer to have a woman
about the place like this, and at such close quarters.
He felt himself obliged to be a little careful of his words,&mdash;a
thing he was altogether unaccustomed to in the
office.</p>

<p>Next day, the usual meeting in the "gossip-shop"
was of unusually brief duration, for as Vindt, the
stockbroker, declared when he came out, "Damme,
but it's spoiled the whole thing, having a blessed woman
in there listening to every word you say." Whereto
Holm replied that it was "sort of comfortable to have
a pleasant young face to look at, instead of a wrinkled
old pumpkin like yours, Vindt!" Vindt growled,
and took his departure hastily.</p>

<p>And it was not many days before Holm was chatting
away easily to Betty, as she worked at her books,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_7" id="Page_7" title="[Pg 7]"></a>
pretending to listen attentively the while to all his
stories.</p>

<p>"I'm not disturbing you, I hope?"</p>

<p>"No, indeed, Mr. Holm. It's very nice of you,
I'm sure, to talk to me." She slipped down from her
chair, and stroked the back of the big ledger with her
slender white hands.</p>

<p>"I've walked a deuce of a way to-day"&mdash;he sat
down on the sofa and wiped his forehead&mdash;"went
right out to the cemetery, to lay a wreath on C. H.
Pettersen and Company's grave. You've heard of C.
Henrik Pettersen, I dare say? Grocery and provision
stores over the square there; had it for years and
years. First-rate man he was; my best friend."</p>

<p>"Good friends are very precious, Mr. Holm."</p>

<p>"Why, yes, they are, mostly. And C. H. Pettersen
and Co. was an uncommon firm, I must say, both for
quality and weight. I know there were some mischief-making
folk used to say he sold margarine as dairy
butter, but that was just pure malice, for the quality
was so good I'll swear they couldn't tell the difference.
And when they're both alike, what does it matter what
you call them?"</p>

<p>"Has he been dead long?"</p>

<p>"Eleven years it is to-day since he handed in his
final balance-sheet; I go out every year to lay a wreath
on his grave, out of sheer gratitude and affection for
his memory."</p>

<p>"You don't often meet with friendship like that."</p>

<p>"You're right there. Ah, one needs to have friends;
when you haven't, it's only too easy to get low-spirited&mdash;especially
now, since I've had this bilious trouble."</p>

<p>"Oh, that must be horrid."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_8" id="Page_8" title="[Pg 8]"></a>
"Horrid, yes, it's the very devil. Only fancy, a
man like me, that used to eat and drink whatever I
pleased&mdash;as far as I could get it, that is&mdash;and now
that I can get whatever I've a fancy to, I have to
live on brown bread and weak tea. You'd think
Providence might have managed things better than
that, now, wouldn't you?"</p>

<p>"Oh, but I'm sure, if you're careful, you'll soon be
all right again. And as long as you're properly looked
after&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah, that's just the trouble, I must say. I've been
used to something very different. I dare say you know
I've been married twice&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Twice? Oh yes, I fancy I did hear about it."</p>

<p>"So you can understand it's a great deal to miss."</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed. Let me see; wasn't your first wife
English?"</p>

<p>"Maggie&mdash;yes; oh, a charming creature, Miss Rantzau;
I wish you could have seen her. The loveliest brown
eyes, and hair as black as a raven's wing, and a complexion
of milk and roses. And the sweetest disposition;
good inside and out she was. Too good, I
suppose, for this world as well as for me."</p>

<p>"Your first wife did not live very long?"</p>

<p>"We were only married a year: hardly enough to
count, really. It's just a beautiful memory&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And how did you come to meet her, Mr. Holm?"</p>

<p>"It was in Birmingham&mdash;I was over there on business.
I dare say you've noticed I put in an English
word now and again in talking; it's all from the time
of my first marriage."</p>

<p>"Yes, I have noticed you use foreign words now
and again."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_9" id="Page_9" title="[Pg 9]"></a>
"It's all from those days with Maggie. Oh, you
should have heard her say: 'I love you, darling.'
Lord save us, what a lovely creature she was! I
declare I love England myself now, all for Maggie's
sake."</p>

<p>"And your son, the engineer, she was his
mother?"</p>

<p>"Yes, to be sure. Poor Maggie, it cost her life,
that little bit of business."</p>

<p>"And your second wife?"</p>

<p>"She was a Widow Gronlund from Arendal. Ah,
that was a queer story. There I was, you see, with
little William, Maggie's boy, sorrowful and downcast
as a wet umbrella. Of course you'd understand I'd no
wish really to go and get married again all at once; I
wrote to Skipper Gronlund of Arendal&mdash;he was a cousin
of mine&mdash;and asked if he and his wife would take the
boy and look after him. They were willing enough,
the more by reason they'd only one child of their own
Little Marie, a girl of the same age."</p>

<p>"So they took the boy?"</p>

<p>"Yes. He was there for four years, and then I
began to feel the want of him and went up to Arendal
to see him. But what do you think happened then?
Just as I got to Arendal there came a wire saying
Gronlund's ship had gone to the bottom, and that
was the end of Gronlund!"</p>

<p>"And then you married her?"</p>

<p>"Exactly. What else could I do? Amalie, Mrs.
Gronlund that is, wouldn't give up the boy, and I
couldn't tear him away by force, could I? Very well,
I said, what must be must, man is but dust, and so
we got married."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_10" id="Page_10" title="[Pg 10]"></a>
"Mrs. Gronlund was not altogether young, I
suppose?"</p>

<p>"Nothing much to look at, more's the pity, but an
excellent housekeeper and a good-hearted soul."</p>

<p>"And so it turned out happily after all?"</p>

<p>"Ay, that it did, but it didn't last long, worse
luck. Amalie still kept longing for her Gronlund, and
she got kidney disease and went off to join him&mdash;and
there I was left once again all on my own, and this
time with Maggie's boy and Amalie's girl."</p>

<p>"But you were glad to have the children, surely?"</p>

<p>"Well, yes, at times. But I can't help calling to
mind the words of the prophet, Children are a blessing
of the Lord, but a trial and a tribulation to man. It's
true, it's true.... Well, William was going in for
engineering, you see, and he was away in Germany
at his studies&mdash;studying how to spend money, as far
as I could see, with a crowd of mighty intelligent
artist people he'd got in with. And what do you
suppose he's doing now?"</p>

<p>Betty was working at her books again, writing away
with all her might in the big ledger, while Holm went
on with his story.</p>

<p>"He wants to be a painter&mdash;an artist, you'd say,
and daubs away great slabs of picture stuff as big as
this floor&mdash;but Lord save and help us, I wouldn't have
the messy things hung up here. I told him he'd much
better go into the shop and get an honest living in a
decent fashion like his father before him&mdash;but no!
Too common, if you please, too materialistic. And
that's bad enough, but there's worse to it yet. Would
you believe it, Miss Betty, he and those artist friends
of his have turned Marie's head the same wry fashion,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_11" id="Page_11" title="[Pg 11]"></a>
and make her believe she's cut out for an artistic career
herself&mdash;a born opera singer, they say; and now she
carols away up there till people think there's a dentist
in the house. Oh, it's the deuce of a mess, I do assure
you!"</p>

<p>Betty looked up from her book. "You must have
the gift of good humour, Mr. Holm."</p>

<p>"Well, I hope so, I'm sure. Shouldn't like to be
one of your doleful sort."</p>

<p>"A kind and hard-working man you've always been,
I'm sure. A perfect model of a man."</p>

<p>"Perfect model&mdash;me? Lord preserve us, I wouldn't
be that for worlds. Can't imagine anything more
uninteresting than the perfect model type. No&mdash;I've
just tried all along to be an ordinary decent man,
that finds life one of the best things going. And when
things happened to turn particularly nasty&mdash;no money,
no credit, and that sort of thing&mdash;why, I'd just say to
myself, 'Come along, my lad, only get to grips with
it, and you'll pull through all right.' And then I
could always console myself with the thought that
when things were looking black, they couldn't get
much blacker, so they'd have to brighten up before
long."</p>

<p>"Yes, it takes sorrows as well as joys to make a
life."</p>

<p>"That's true. But we make them both for ourselves
mostly. If you only knew what fun I've got
out of life at times; have to hammer out a bit of
something lively now and then, you know! Look at
us now, for instance, just sitting here talking. Isn't
that heaps better than sitting solemnly like two
mummies on their blessed pyramids?" And he<a class="pagenum" name="Page_12" id="Page_12" title="[Pg 12]"></a>
swung round on his high stool till the screw creaked
again.</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed, it's very nice, I'm sure." Betty
began putting her books away, Holm walking up and
down meanwhile with short, rapid steps. Upstairs,
someone was singing to the piano.</p>

<p>"Nice sort of evening we're going to have, by the
look of things. House full of blessed amateurs with
fiddles and tambourines. Serve them right if they
were packed off to a reformatory, the whole&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Oh, but surely, Mr. Holm, you needn't be so hard
on them. Young people must have a little entertainment
now and then&mdash;especially when they've a father
who can afford it," she added a little wistfully.</p>

<p>"Afford it&mdash;h'm. As to that ... if they keep
on the way they're going now, I'm not sure I shan't
have to give them a bit of a lesson...." He crossed
over to the desk, and, spreading out his elbows, looked
quizzically at Betty.</p>

<p>"What do you think now&mdash;is Knut G. Holm too
old to marry again?"</p>

<p>"Really, I'm sure I couldn't say," answered the girl,
with a merry laugh. And, slipping past him, she took
her jacket and hat.</p>

<p>"Good-night, Mr. Holm."</p>

<p>"Good-night, Miss Betty. I hope I haven't kept you
too long with all my talk, but it's such a comfort to
feel that there's one place in the house where there's
somebody sensible to talk to."</p>

<p>He stood for some time looking after her.</p>

<p>"Not bad&mdash;not bad at all. Nice figure&mdash;trifle over
slender in the upper works, perhaps; looks a bit
worried at times; finds it hard to make ends meet,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_13" id="Page_13" title="[Pg 13]"></a>
perhaps, poor thing. H'm. But she's a good worker,
and that's a fact. Yes, I think this arrangement
was a good idea."</p>

<p>Garner came in with the cash-box. "We've shut
up outside, Mr. Holm. Was there anything more you
wanted this evening?"</p>

<p>"No&mdash;no thanks. H'm, I say, that row and goings
on upstairs, can you hear it out in the shop?"</p>

<p>"About the same as in here. But it's really beautiful
music, Mr. Holm. I slipped out into the passage
upstairs a little while back, and they were singing a
quartette, but Miss Marie was taking the bass, and
going so hard I'm sure they could hear her right up
at the fire station."</p>

<p>"I've no doubt they could, Garner. But I'll give
them music of another sort, and then&mdash;we'll see!"
He flung the cash-box into the safe with a clang, and
Garner judged it best to disappear without delay.</p>

<p>Outside in the shop he confided to Clasen that the
old man was in a roaring paddy about the music upstairs;
and the pair of them fell to speculating as to
what would happen when he came up.</p>

<p>"Oh, nothing," said Clasen. "Those youngsters
they always manage to get round him in the end."</p>

<p>"Might get sick of the whole business and give up
the shop&mdash;or make it over to us, what?" added Garner,
"as his successors," and he waxed enthusiastic over
the idea as they strolled along to Syversen's Hotel for
a little extra in the way of supper.</p>

<p>Holm was walking up and down by himself in the
office, while the music upstairs went on, until the
globe on the safe rattled with the sound. He was in
a thoroughly bad temper for once. "There! Just<a class="pagenum" name="Page_14" id="Page_14" title="[Pg 14]"></a>
as everything was going nicely&mdash;and a balance-sheet
worth framing! Ha-ha! and only the other day that
miserable worm of a bank manager, Hermansen,
wouldn't take my paper for £400. Lord, but I'd like
to show that fellow one day; make him understand
he was a trifle out in his reckoning with the firm of
Knut G. Holm. Do a neat little deal to the tune of
a few thousand, cash down&mdash;something to make him
scratch his silly pate. I can just imagine him saying
to himself: 'Remarkable man that Knut Holm.
Never really had much faith in him before, but
now....' Yes, that's what he said a few years
back, I remember; hadn't much faith in the business.
Well, I must say, things <em>were</em> looking pretty bad at
that time. But I'd always reckoned on William's
coming into the business; new style, Holm and Son.
And now there's an end of all that. No, it doesn't
pay to go building castles in the air; it's just card
houses that come tumbling down with a crash. Here
have I been toiling and moiling all these years, morning
till night, building up the business step by step to what
it is now. Had to knuckle to that swine of a Hermansen
ugh&mdash;ugrh&mdash;isch! Lying awake at night trying to
work out some way of getting over to-morrow, with
the bills falling due&mdash;and now there's that pack of
wastrels sitting up there. 'Poor old man'&mdash;that's
their style&mdash;'quite a decent old chap in many ways,
no doubt, but no idea of culture, no sense of lofty
ideals; spent his life standing behind a counter and
that's about all he's fit for.' Oh, I know the tune when
they get on that topic! I've marked it often enough
when I'm with them and their precious friends. They'll
eat and drink at my expense, and then slap me on the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_15" id="Page_15" title="[Pg 15]"></a>
shoulder in their superior way, thinking all the time
I'm just an old drudge of a cab horse, and lucky to
have the chance of encouraging real Art! Oh, I'll
talk to them! It'll be a real treat to give them a
proper lesson for once. They shall have it this evening.
So on, old boy!"</p>

<p>When Holm walked into the big drawing-room
upstairs he was greeted with acclamation. "Hurrah
for Mæcenas! hurrah for the patron of Art! Hurrah!"</p>

<p>"Here, Frantz, you're a poet; get up and make a
speech in honour of my noble sire."</p>

<p>Frantz Pettersen, a podgy little man with a big fair
moustache, lifted his glass.</p>

<p>"Friends and brothers in Art, in the eternal realm
of beauty! the halls wherein we live and move are
bright and lofty, it is true, and our outlook is
wide, unbounded. But let us not therefore forget the
simple home of our youthful days, though it be never
as poor and dry."</p>

<p>"Dry&mdash;what do you mean? It's not dry here, I
hope?"</p>

<p>"My mistake. Dark, I should have said. Poor
and dark.... Well, my friend, this noble fatherly
soul, who a moment ago entered upon us like a vision
from another world&mdash;a visitor from the lower regions,
so to speak (Hear!)&mdash;him we acclaim, by all the gods
of ancient myth, by the deities of the upper and the
nether world&mdash;steady, boys&mdash;not to speak of this.
And you, my fortunate young friend, whose lot it is
to claim this exalted soul by the worthy name of father,
rejoice with me at his presence among us in this hour.
Do not your hearts beat high with thankfulness to the
providence that has spared him to you so long? What<a class="pagenum" name="Page_16" id="Page_16" title="[Pg 16]"></a>
says the poet (now what does he say, I wonder? Let
me see). 'My father was a&mdash;&mdash;' something or other.
Anyhow, never mind. To come to the point, we, er&mdash;raise
our glasses now in honour of this revered paterfamilias
whose toil and thingummy in this materialistic
world have crowned the work of his accomplished
children. <i lang="no">Skaal!</i>"</p>

<p>The speech was received with general acclamation.</p>

<p>Holm was taken by surprise, and hardly knew what
to say. He could hardly open the campaign at such
a moment with a sermon; mechanically he took the
glass offered him. But hardly had he touched it with
his lips than he asked in astonishment:</p>

<p>"When&mdash;where on earth did you get hold of that
Madeira? Let me look at the bottle. I thought as
much. Tar and feather me, if they haven't gone and
snaffled my '52 Madeira! Six bottles that I'd been
keeping for my jubilee in the business&mdash;all gone, I
suppose. Nice children, I must say!"</p>

<p>He sat down in an arm-chair, fanning himself with
a handkerchief.</p>

<p>"These golden drops from the cellars of our revered
friend and patron&mdash;&mdash;" began Frantz sententiously.</p>

<p>"Oh, stop that nonsense, do," growled Holm.
And, snatching up a bottle of the old Madeira, he
took it into the dining-room and hid it behind the
sofa.</p>

<p>"Dearest, darling papa, you're not going to be bad-tempered
now, are you?" whispered Marie, throwing
her arms around his neck.</p>

<p>"I'm not bad-tempered&mdash;I'm angry."</p>

<p>"Oh, but you mustn't. Why, what is there to be
angry about?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_17" id="Page_17" title="[Pg 17]"></a>
Holm was dumbfounded. Nothing to be angry
about indeed. He ought perhaps to say thank you
to these young rascals for allowing him to stay up with
them?</p>

<p>"Shall I sing to you, papa?"</p>

<p>"Sing! no, thank you. I'd rather not."</p>

<p>"But what's the matter? What's it all about?"</p>

<p>"What's the matter&mdash;good heavens, why, my '52
Madeira, isn't that enough?"</p>

<p>"Oh, is that all? I'm sure it couldn't have been
put to better use. You ought to have heard Frantz
Pettersen making up things on the spur of the moment;
it was simply lovely."</p>

<p>She had clambered up on his knee, with her arms
round his neck; the others were still in the drawing-room.</p>

<p>"Lovely, was it, little one?" said Holm in a somewhat
gentler voice.</p>

<p>"Yes, papa&mdash;oh, I don't know when I've enjoyed
myself so much as this evening. And only fancy,
Hilmar Strom, the composer&mdash;there, you can see, the
tall thin man in glasses&mdash;he said I had a beautiful
voice&mdash;beautiful!"</p>

<p>"Don't you believe it, my child."</p>

<p>"What&mdash;when a great artist like that says so?
Oh, I was so happy&mdash;and now you come and...."
She stood up and put her handkerchief to her eyes.
Just then William came in.</p>

<p>"Hullo, what's the matter? What are you crying
for?"</p>

<p>"Papa&mdash;papa says I'm not to believe what Hilmar
Strom said&mdash;that I'd a beautiful voice. Ugh&mdash;it's
always like that at home&mdash;it's <em>miserable</em>." She leaned<a class="pagenum" name="Page_18" id="Page_18" title="[Pg 18]"></a>
over in a corner of the sofa, hiding her face in her
hands.</p>

<p>"Yes, you're right. Oh, we shall have pleasant
memories of home to go out into the world with." And
William stalked off in dudgeon.</p>

<p>Holm sat there like a criminal, at a loss what to
make of it all. Oh, these young folk! They always
seemed to manage to turn the tables on him somehow.
He couldn't even get properly angry now.</p>

<p>And Marie&mdash;he was always helpless where she was
concerned. He was sorry now he had not brought her
up differently. But he had never said an unkind word
to her&mdash;how could he, to a sweet little thing like that?
Only last year she had nursed him herself for three
weeks, when he was at death's door with inflammation
of the lungs; that girl, that girl! He went over
to the sofa and put his arms round her.</p>

<p>"There, there, little one, it's not so bad as all
that."</p>

<p>"Hu&mdash;hu&mdash;hu&mdash;I didn't know&mdash;I didn't know
about the old Madeira. It was me&mdash;hu&mdash;hu&mdash;that
brought it up."</p>

<p>"Well, well, never mind about the Madeira, child.
We can get some more; only don't cry now."</p>

<p>She turned towards him.</p>

<p>"Then you're not angry with me any more, papa?"
"No, no, child. There&mdash;now go in and enjoy
yourself again."</p>

<p>"Oh, but it's so horrid, papa&mdash;I'm sure the others
must have noticed us."</p>

<p>Just then William came in and reported that the
scene had made a painful impression on the guests;
Strom, the composer, and Berg, the sculptor, were for<a class="pagenum" name="Page_19" id="Page_19" title="[Pg 19]"></a>
going off at once, and were only with difficulty persuaded
to stay.</p>

<p>Holm did not know what to say to this; the transition
from accuser to accused was too sudden.</p>

<p>"Couldn't you make us some punch, father; it
would sort of set things right again if you were to
come marching in yourself with a big bowl of punch."</p>

<p>"Punch? H'm&mdash;well&mdash;I could, of course, but
then ..."</p>

<p>"Oh yes, that lovely punch, papa, you know, with
champagne and hock and curaçao in&mdash;and all the rest
of it."</p>

<p>"Well, I suppose I must. Now that I have once
got into all this&mdash;this artist business, why ..." And
off he went for the key of the cellar.</p>

<p>No sooner was he out of the room than William
burst out laughing.</p>

<p>"Oh, Marie, you are the most irresistible little devil
that ever lived." And he waltzed her round and
round.</p>

<p>"Well, it wanted some doing to-day, William, I
can tell you. I was half afraid I shouldn't manage
it after all. As it was, I had to cry before he'd come
round."</p>

<p>"First-rate. Woman's tears are the finest weapon
ever invented&mdash;and punch on top of all&mdash;bravo!
Come along, we must go and prepare the rest of the
band for what's coming."</p>

<p>Out in the kitchen, Holm was busy over a punch
bowl, solemnly stirring the brew and dropping in slices
of lemon one by one.</p>

<p>"I am an old fool, I know, to let them get round
me as they do. H'm. And the longer I leave it,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_20" id="Page_20" title="[Pg 20]"></a>
the worse it will be. We shall have to come to a
proper understanding some time; it can't go on like
this...."</p>

<p>"Papa, are you nearly ready?"</p>

<p>"Coming, coming, dear, in a minute. Open the
door, there's a good girl."</p>

<p>The entry of the host with a bowl of punch was the
signal for a general demonstration of delight. Frantz
Pettersen promptly sat down at the piano and started
off, the rest of the party accompanying with anything
they could lay hands on. One had a pair of fire tongs,
one beat a brass tray, one rang a couple of glasses
against each other, and so on. The words were
something like this:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"Our host he is a lasting joy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A perfect Pa for girl and boy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A perfect Pa, hurray, hurrah,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He stands with head so meekly bowed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Withal a man of whom we're proud,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We're proud of you, hurrah, hurroo,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hurrah, hurrip, hurray!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All honour to the grocery trade<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whereby his fortune it was made,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a nice one too, hurrah, hurroo,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hurrah, hurrip, hurray!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It must have been a decent pile<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For his cellar's stocked in splendid style,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Put it away, hurrah, hurray,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!<a class="pagenum" name="Page_21" id="Page_21" title="[Pg 21]"></a><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Though somebody must have made, we fear, a<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sad mistake with that Madeira,<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><span class="sic" title="[sic]">Maderiah</span>, hurray, hurrah,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But now he casts all care away<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And gladly joins our circle gay.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our circle gay, hurrah, hurray,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The flowing bowl he brings us here,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So drink his health with a hearty cheer,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hip, hip, hurrah, hurrip,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Hurrah, hurrip, hurra-a-ay!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Holm did not know whether to laugh or cry at this
exhibition, but chose the former; after all, it might
be worth while to see how far they would go. He made
speech after speech, and the company shouted in
delight. Graarud, the literary critic of the <i>People's
Guardian</i>, declared that Knut Holm was a credit to
the merchant citizens of his country, and as fine a
specimen of the type as was to be found.</p>

<p>Listad, another literary man, who edited a paper
himself, was making love to Marie, but with little
apparent success. He was a cadaverous-looking
personage, but an idealist, and earnest in the cause of
universal peace.</p>

<p>The speeches grew more and more exalted in tone
as the evening went on. Pettersen invited the company
to drink to the "coming dawn of Art in the land&mdash;a
dawn that would soon appear when once the daughter
of the house raised her melodious voice to ring o'er
hill and dale." This was too much for Holm; he<a class="pagenum" name="Page_22" id="Page_22" title="[Pg 22]"></a>
slipped into the hall and, putting on an overcoat, went
out to get some fresh air.</p>

<p>It was a fine, starlight, frosty night, the river flowed
broad and smooth and dark between the piers, the
gas lamps on either side shedding long streaks of light
across the silent water.</p>

<p>He swung round the corner, but&mdash;heavens, who
was that sitting so quietly on the steps in front of the
shop? He went up, and found a twelve-year-old boy
leaning against the wall.</p>

<p>"Why, little man, what's the matter? What are
you sitting out here for in the cold?"</p>

<p>The lad rose hurriedly to his feet and made as if to
run away.</p>

<p>"No, here, wait a bit, son; there's nothing to be
afraid of." Holm took the boy's hand, and looked
into a pale childish face with deep dark eyes, and
framed in a tangle of fair hair.</p>

<p>"I was only listening," he sobbed.... "The music
upstairs there...."</p>

<p>"You're fond of music, then?"</p>

<p>"Yes; I always go out in the evening, when nobody
can see, and sit outside where I know there's somebody
that plays. And Holm's up there, they've got the
loveliest piano."</p>

<p>"Would you like to learn to play yourself?"</p>

<p>The boy looked up at him in astonishment.</p>

<p>"Me?"</p>

<p>"Yes, you. If you're so fond of music, wouldn't
you like to learn to play?"</p>

<p>"I've got to help mother at home, because father's
dead. And when I'm big enough I'm going to be a
sailor. Please, I must go home now."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_23" id="Page_23" title="[Pg 23]"></a>
"Mother getting anxious about you, eh?"</p>

<p>"No, she knows where I go of an evening; she
doesn't mind."</p>

<p>"Well, what's your name, anyhow?"</p>

<p>"Hans Martinsen."</p>

<p>"Here you are, then, Hans, here's two shillings for
you."</p>

<p>"Oh, er&mdash;that for me! I could go to heaps of
concerts.... Thank you ever so much."</p>

<p>He clasped the outstretched hand in both his little
fists, and looked up with beaming eyes.</p>

<p>"And now look here, little Hans. At eleven
o'clock to-morrow morning you come round and ask
for me. Here in the shop."</p>

<p>"But, are you&mdash;are you Mr. Holm, then?" He
loosed the hand.</p>

<p>"Well, and what then? That's nothing to be afraid
of, is it, little Hans? But now, listen to me. I want
you to come round here to-morrow morning, as I said.
And perhaps then we'll have some real nice music for
you. And you can bring your mother too if you like."</p>

<p>"Music&mdash;to-morrow&mdash;oh, that will be lovely. And
won't mother be pleased!"</p>

<p>"And now run along home, like a good boy, and
get warm. You've been sitting here in the cold too
long already. Good-night."</p>

<p>"Good-night, good-night!"</p>

<p>Holm watched the little figure hurrying with swift
little legs across the bridge, till it disappeared into the
dark on the farther side.</p>

<p>He stood for some time deep in thought. The
dawn of Art&mdash;what was it Pettersen had said? What
if he, Holm, the despised materialist, were to be the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_24" id="Page_24" title="[Pg 24]"></a>
first to discover the dawn here! It was a strange
coincidence, anyway. "And such strange, deep eyes
the little fellow had; it went to my heart when his
little hands took hold of mine.... Ay, little lad,
you're one of God's flowers, I can see. And you shan't
be left to perish of cold in this world as long as my
name's Knut Holm."</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_25" id="Page_25" title="[Pg 25]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III<br />
BRAMSEN</h2>


<p>On the morning after the party, Holm sent down
for Paal Abrahamsen or "Bramsen" as he
was generally called. Holm and Bramsen
had known each other from childhood; they had gone
to the same poor school, and had grown up together.
After their confirmation, Bramsen had gone to sea,
while Holm had got a place in a shop, and commenced
his mercantile career. But he never forgot his old
friend, and when in course of time he had established
a business of his own, he made Bramsen his warehouseman
and clerk on the quay, where he now held a
position of trust as Holm's right-hand man. He was
a short, bandy-legged man, with a humorous face set
in a frame of shaggy whiskers, and a remarkably mobile
play of feature. Agile as a cat, he could walk on his
hands as easily as others on their feet, and, despite his
fifty-five years, he turned out regularly on Contrition
Day to compete with the boys for prizes in the park;
and he was a hard man to beat!</p>

<p>"Paal he can never be serious," complained Andrine,
his wife, who was something of a melancholy character
herself, and constantly endeavouring to drag him
along to various meetings and assemblies which Paal
as regularly evaded on some pretext or other.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_26" id="Page_26" title="[Pg 26]"></a>
Holm's relations with his old comrade and subordinate
were of a curious character. Down at the quay,
when they were alone, they addressed each other in
familiar terms, as equals; but in public, Bramsen was
always the respectful employee, observing all formalities
towards his master.</p>

<p>When the message came down from the office
that Mr. Holm would be coming down to the waterside
at 7.30 in the morning to see him, Bramsen turned
thoughtful.</p>

<p>They had held a similar conference once, some
years before, when the firm of Knut G. Holm looked
like going to ruin&mdash;Heaven send it was not something
of the same sort now!</p>

<p>Holm looked irritable and out of sorts. "Bramsen,"
he said, "I'm sick and tired of the whole blessed
business."</p>

<p>Bramsen scratched his chin meditatively, and laid
his head on one side. "H'm," he observed after a
pause. "More trouble with that there guinea-pig up
at the bank, fussing about bills and that sort?"</p>

<p>"No, no, nothing to do with that. We're all right
as far as money goes."</p>

<p>"All right, eh? But you're put out about something,
that's plain to see. Liver out of order, perhaps?"</p>

<p>"Oh no!"</p>

<p>"Why, then, there's nothing else that I can see."</p>

<p>"It's those wretched youngsters of mine."</p>

<p>"Ho, is that all?"</p>

<p>"All! As if it wasn't enough! I tell you they're
going stark mad, the pair of them."</p>

<p>"Seems to me they've been that way a long time
now."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_27" id="Page_27" title="[Pg 27]"></a>
"Oh, it's all very well to talk like that. But really,
it's getting beyond all bearing. William's taken it
into his head to go and be a painter."</p>

<p>"Well, and not a bad thing, either, as long as he
does the work decently, with plenty of driers and not
too much oil in the mixing. Look at Erlandsen up
the river, he's made a good thing out of it."</p>

<p>"Oh, not that sort of painting. It's an artist, I
mean. Painting pictures and things."</p>

<p>"Pictures!" Bramsen looked dumbfounded.
"Painting pictures? Well, blister me if I ever heard
the like. Wait a bit, though&mdash;there was Olsen, the
verger; he'd a boy, I remember, a slip of a fellow
with gold spectacles and consumption, he used to mess
about with that sort of thing. But he never made a
living out of it&mdash;didn't live long, anyway."</p>

<p>"But that's not the worst of it, Bramsen. There's
Marie&mdash;she wants to be a singer."</p>

<p>Bramsen almost fell off the sugar-box on which he
was seated.</p>

<p>"Singer&mdash;what! Singing for money, d'you mean?
Going round with a hat?"</p>

<p>"Something very much like it, anyway&mdash;only it'll
be my money that goes into the hat. What are we
to do about it, eh?"</p>

<p>"H'm ... Couldn't you pack the boy off to sea?
And the young lady&mdash;send her to a school to do needlework
and such like?"</p>

<p>"Oh, what's the good of talking like that? No,
my dear man, young people nowadays don't let themselves
be sent anywhere that way. There's the pair
of them, they simply laugh at us."</p>

<p>Holm walked back to the office deep in thought.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_28" id="Page_28" title="[Pg 28]"></a>
On his return, he found Hans Martinsen, and Berg, the
organist, awaiting him.</p>

<p>Bramsen remained seated on his sugar-box and
murmured to himself: "Well, it's a nice apple-pie
for Knut Holm, that it is. Lord, but they children
can be the very devil."</p>

<p>A little later, Garner came down to the quay, and
found Bramsen still meditating on his box.</p>

<p>"What's wrong with the old man to-day, Bramsen?
He looks as if he was going in for the deaf-and-dumb
school; there's no getting a word out of him."</p>

<p>Bramsen sat for quite a while without answering.
Then at last he said solemnly:</p>

<p>"It's my humble opinion, and that's none so humble
after all, that there's a deal of what you might call
contrapasts in this here world."</p>

<p>"Meaning to say?"</p>

<p>"It's plain enough. Folk that's got a retipation,
they does all they can to lose it, and they that hasn't,
why&mdash;there's no understanding them till they've got
one."</p>

<p>Garner was still in the dark as to whither all this
wisdom tended, and began absently slitting up a coffee-sack.</p>

<p>"Look you, Garner," Bramsen went on. "It's this
way with the women: they've each their station here
in life, as by the Lord appointed. Some gets married,
and some goes school-teaching, or out in service, and
such-like&mdash;and all that sort, they stick to their retipation;
but the woman that goes about singing for
money in a hat, her retipation's like a broken window&mdash;it's
out and gone to bits and done with."</p>

<p>Garner laughed and looked inquiringly at the other.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_29" id="Page_29" title="[Pg 29]"></a>
"<em>Now</em>, do you understand, Garner, what's the
trouble with Holm?"</p>

<p>"Oh, so that's what you're getting at, is it? Miss
Holm wants to go on the stage."</p>

<p>"Singing, my boy; singing for money, and if so
be that was to happen to any daughter of mine, I'd
give her a dose of something to make her lose her
voice&mdash;ay, if it was rat poison, I would."</p>

<p>It was a regular thing for Garner and Bramsen to
have a comfortable chat down at the waterside, when
the old sailor would generally relate some of his experiences
at sea. These yarns especially delighted
Garner, who came of a peasant stock himself, and
knew nothing of the sea or foreign parts until he came
to the town. He tried now to open up the subject
again.</p>

<p>"Ever been in the Arctic, Bramsen?"</p>

<p>"Have I? Why, I should think so. I was up
that way in '76, on a whaling trip with Svend Foya."</p>

<p>It was a habit of Bramsen's at the beginning of a
story to make some attempt at a literary style, but he
invariably dropped it as he went on.</p>

<p>"Dangerous business, isn't it?"</p>

<p>"Why, that's as you take it or as you make it. If
one of the brutes gets your boat with a flick of his tail,
there's an end of you, of course. I remember once
we were after a big fellow; had a shot at him and got
in just aft of the spout-holes. And then, take my
word for it, he led us a dance. Off he went, full-speed
ahead, and us full speed astern, but blister me if he
didn't win the tug-of-war and sail off with us at nineteen
knots, till we were cutting along like a torpedo
boat. He wasn't winded, ye see, for his blowpipe<a class="pagenum" name="Page_30" id="Page_30" title="[Pg 30]"></a>
was intact, and his gear below-decks sound and ship-shape.
But at last we got him fairly run down, and
settled him with a straight one through the heart."</p>

<p>"A whale's heart must be pretty big?"</p>

<p>"Why, yes, he's what you might call a large-hearted
beast. About the size of a middling chest o' drawers
or a chiffonier."</p>

<p>"Rough on a whale, then, if he got heart disease,"
laughed Garner.</p>

<p>"Why, as to that, I suppose it would be in proportion,
as you might say. But he's built pretty well to
scale in the other parts as well, with his main arteries
about as big round as a chimney."</p>

<p>"I wonder you didn't go up with Nansen to the
Pole."</p>

<p>"And what for, I'd like to know? Messing about
among a lot of nasty Eskimos; no, thankye, I'd a
better use for my time." And Bramsen went on
again with his whaling yarns for a spell, until Garner
found it was time to get back to the shop.</p>

<p>Outside the store shed sat a row of urchins fishing
from the edge of the quay. Bramsen was a popular
character among the waterside boys; he would chat
and fish with them at off-times, or help them in the
manufacture of a patent "knock-out" bait, from a
recipe of his own, the chief ingredients being flour and
spirits. There was always a shout of delight when
the small fish appeared at the surface, belly upwards.
But to-day the knock-out drops appeared to fail of
their effect, whether because the fish had grown used
to French brandy, or for some other reason. Bramsen
soon left the boys to their own devices, and went back
into the shed. Here, to his astonishment, he found<a class="pagenum" name="Page_31" id="Page_31" title="[Pg 31]"></a>
Amanda, his daughter and only child, weeping in a
corner.</p>

<p>Amanda was about fifteen, a lanky slip of a girl,
with her hair in a thick plait down her back, twinkling
dark brown eyes, and a bright, pleasant face.</p>

<p>"Saints and sea-serpents&mdash;you here, child? What's
amiss now?"</p>

<p>"Mother&mdash;mother wants us to go to meeting this
evening, and you promised we should go to the theatre
and see <i>Monkey Tricks</i>, and they say it's the funniest
piece."</p>

<p>Bramsen grew suddenly thoughtful. What if the
child were to go getting ideas into her head, like Miss
Holm, and want to go about singing with a hat&mdash;h'm,
perhaps after all it might be as well to take her to the
meeting with Andrine.</p>

<p>But the mere suggestion sent Amanda off into a
fresh burst of tears.</p>

<p>"There, there, child, I'll take you to the theatre,
then, but on one condition."</p>

<p>Amanda looked up expectantly. "Yes?"</p>

<p>"You're never to think of singing for money yourself,
or going on the stage, or anything like that. You
understand?"</p>

<p>The girl had no idea of what was in his mind, and
answered mechanically, "No, father&mdash;and you'll take
me to see <i>Monkey Tricks</i> after all?"</p>

<p>"All right! but don't let your mother know, that's
all."</p>

<p>Amanda was out of the door like an arrow, and
hurried home at full speed. That evening she and
her father sat up in the gallery, thoroughly enjoying
themselves. Bramsen, it must be confessed, had<a class="pagenum" name="Page_32" id="Page_32" title="[Pg 32]"></a>
taken the title literally, and waited expectantly all
through the piece for the monkey to appear, and was
disappointed in consequence, but seeing Amanda so
delighted with the play as it was, he said nothing about
it. Had he been alone he would have demanded his
money back; after all, it was rank swindling to
advertise a piece as Monkey Tricks, when there wasn't
a monkey.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, Andrine had gone to the meeting, and
waited patiently for the others to appear&mdash;they had
promised to come on after. Here, however, she was
disappointed, as usual.</p>

<p>When the backsliders came home, they found her
deploring the vanity of this world, the imperfections
of our mortal life, and the weakness of human clay
against the powers of evil.</p>

<p>Bramsen and Amanda let her go on, as they always
did, exchanging glances the while; occasionally, when
her back was turned, Bramsen would make the most
ludicrous faces, until Amanda had to go out into the
kitchen and laugh.</p>

<p>Bramsen was fond of his wife; she was indeed so
good-hearted and unselfish that no one could help it;
while Amanda, for her part, respected her mother as
the only one who could keep her in order. And indeed
it was needed, "with a father that never so much as
thought of punishing the child."</p>

<p>Bramsen himself had never been thrashed in his
life, except by his comrades as a boy, and had always
conscientiously paid back in full. He had had no
experience of the chastening rod, and could not conceive
that anything of the sort was needed for Amanda.
Consequently, the relation between father and daughter<a class="pagenum" name="Page_33" id="Page_33" title="[Pg 33]"></a>
was of the nature of an alliance as between friends,
and as the years went on, the pair of them were
constantly combining forces to outwit Andrine.</p>

<p>Bramsen had no idea of the value of money, or its
proper use and application, wherefore Andrine had,
in course of time, taken over charge of the family
finances, and kept the savings-bank book,&mdash;a treasure
which Bramsen himself was allowed to view on rare
occasions, and then only from the outside, its contents
being quite literally a closed book to him. Amanda
and he would often put their heads together and fall
to guessing how much there might be in the book,
"taking it roughly like," but the riddle remained
unsolved.</p>

<p>Every month Bramsen brought home his pay and
delivered it dutifully into Andrine's hands; he made
no mention, however, of the ten-shilling rise that had
been given him, but spent the money on little extras
and outings for himself and Amanda, whom he found
it hard to refuse at any time.</p>

<p>A month before, it had been her great wish to have
an album "to write poetry in"; all the other girls
in her class had one, and she simply couldn't be the
only one without. Bramsen could not understand
what pleasure there was to be got out of such an
article; much better to get a song book with printed
words and have done with it. But Amanda scorned the
suggestion, and the album was duly bought. She had
got two entries in it already, one from Verger <span class="sic" title="[sic]">Klemmeken</span>
of Strandvik, an old friend of her father's, who
wrote in big straggling letters:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"Whene'er these humble lines you see,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I pray that you'll remember me."<br /></span>
<a class="pagenum" name="Page_34" id="Page_34" title="[Pg 34]"></a></div></div>

<p>and one from Miss Tobiesen, an old lady at the infirmary,
who had been engaged seven times, and therefore
judged it appropriate to quote:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"'Tis better to have loved and lost<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than never to have loved at all."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Amanda then insisted that her father should contribute
something, but Bramsen declared in the first
place that the album was much too fine a thing for
his clumsy fist, and furthermore, that he couldn't hit
on anything to write. Amanda, however, gave him no
peace till he consented, and at last, after much effort,
the worthy man achieved the following gem:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"I, Amanda's only father,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Love her very much but rather<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fear she causes lots of bother<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To her wise and loving mother."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>This elegant composition was unfortunately not appreciated
by Amanda, who, to tell the truth, was highly
displeased. Fancy writing such a thing in her book&mdash;why,
the whole class would laugh at her. Bramsen
was obliged to scratch it out, but in so doing, scratched
a hole in the paper, leaving no alternative but to take
out the page altogether, much to Amanda's disgust.</p>

<p>Bramsen's highest ambition in life was to be master
of a steamboat; not one of the big vessels that go as
far as China, say, or Copenhagen&mdash;that, he realised,
was out of the question, in view of his large contempt
for examinations, mate's certificates and book-learning
generally. The goal of his desire, the aim of all his
dearest dreams, was a tugboat, a smart little devil
of a craft with a proper wheel-house amidships and
booms and hawsers aft.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_35" id="Page_35" title="[Pg 35]"></a>
A grand life it would be, to go fussing about up and
down the fjord, meeting old acquaintances among
the fishermen and pilots&mdash;yo, heave ho, my lads! He
had often suggested to Andrine that the contents of
the savings-bank book might be devoted to the purchase
of a tug, but Andrine would cross herself piously, and
urge him to combat all temptation and evil inspirations
of the sort. Bramsen could not see anything
desperately evil in the idea himself; he found it more
depressing to think that he should spend the remainder
of his days in the stuffy atmosphere of the warehouse
on the quay. Was it reasonable, now, for a man like
himself to be planted, like a geranium in a flower-pot,
among sugar-boxes, flour-sacks, and store-keeping
trash?</p>

<p>"Ay, life's a queer old tangle sometimes," murmured
Bramsen to himself, "and we've got to make the best
of it, I suppose." And he cast a longing glance through
the doorway of the shed, at Johnsen, of the tug <i>Rap</i>,
steaming down the fjord with his tow.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_36" id="Page_36" title="[Pg 36]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV<br />
HERMANSEN OF THE BANK</h2>


<p>Hermansen was manager of the local bank.
He and Knut Holm had never been friends,
and though outwardly their relations were
to all seeming amicable enough, the attitude of each
toward the other was really one of armed neutrality.</p>

<p>The banker was in all things cold, precise and
dignified, with a military stiffness of bearing, and
devoid of all softer sentiment or feeling.</p>

<p>Entrenched behind his counter at the bank, he would
glance frigidly at any bill presented, and if the security
appeared to him insufficient, he would hand it back
with the remark: "We have no money to-day,"
though the coffers might be full to bursting.</p>

<p>He was an old bachelor, and Holm was wont to
declare that if Hermansen, at the Creation, had been
set in Adam's place in the Garden of Eden and found
himself alone with Eve, he would have declined to
discount any promissory notes of hers, and our planet
in consequence have been as uninhabited as the
moon.</p>

<p>Hermansen was really quite a good-looking man;
his tall, slender figure in tight-fitting coat, his iron-grey
hair brushed a little forward on either side of his
clean-shaven face, the narrow, close-set lips, combined<a class="pagenum" name="Page_37" id="Page_37" title="[Pg 37]"></a>
to give him an appearance of distinction fitted for a
member of the diplomatic corps.</p>

<p>He was a smart man of business, not only in the
affairs of the bank, but also for his own account.
Whenever an opportunity occurred of making money,
whether by purchase of real property, bankrupt stock
or other means, he was always ready to step in at the
most favourable moment. He was generally considered
one of the richest men in the town, and could afford
to speculate at long sight; he was too wise, however,
to give any grounds for the suspicion that he took
undue advantage of his position. But, as Holm would
say, "he's a devilish sharp nose, all the same; he can
smell a coming failure years before the man himself
has ever thought of it." And it was Holm's great
ambition to get the better of him and make the banker
burn his fingers in a way he should remember. But
it was no easy matter, and up to now all his attempts
in that direction had recoiled upon himself.</p>

<p>There was that affair of the building site behind
the Town Hall, for instance; Holm's temper went
up to boiling point even now whenever he thought
of it.</p>

<p>Hermansen, he knew, had had an eye on the place
for years, and Holm was sure that by snapping it up
himself he would be able to make a few hundred pounds
by selling it again to his rival. Accordingly, when the
site was put up for auction, he bought it in himself
under the very nose of the banker, and gladly paid
five hundred for it, though he knew four hundred would
have been nearer the mark.</p>

<p>On the day following the sale he encountered Hermansen
in the street.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_38" id="Page_38" title="[Pg 38]"></a>
"Ah, Mr. Holm, so you were left with that site
yesterday?"</p>

<p>Aha, thought Holm, he's working up to it already.</p>

<p>"Why, yes, I thought I'd take it. Fine bit of
ground, you know, splendid situation&mdash;but I'm open
to sell, at a reasonable advance, of course."</p>

<p>"Thanks very much&mdash;but I'm not a buyer myself.
By the way, I suppose you know there's a condition
attached to the building: no windows to overlook the
Town Hall. That means the frontage will have to
be in the little back street behind, on the shady side.
H'm, lowers the value of the property, of course.
Still, taking it all round, I should say it was quite a
fair deal."</p>

<p>Holm stood looking helplessly after him; he had
had no idea of any such condition attached, and the
thought of his oversight made him furious for months
after. The site lay there vacant to this day, a piece
of waste ground, with a big open ditch running through
it. Vindt, the stockbroker, had named it "Holm's
Canal," after a larger and more celebrated piece of
water with which Knut Holm had nothing to do. And
some ill-disposed person had written to the local
paper, complaining of the "stink" which arose from
the water in question.</p>

<p>Holm found the office considerably pleasanter and
more comfortable since Miss Betty's installation. An
outward and visible sign of the change was the vase
of fresh flowers which she placed on the desk each
morning, showing that even a dusty office might be
made to look cheerful and nice.</p>

<p>Already the two of them chatted together as if they
had known each other for years, and the relations<a class="pagenum" name="Page_39" id="Page_39" title="[Pg 39]"></a>
between master and employee grew more and more
cordial.</p>

<p>Holm, of course, was always the one to open conversation;
he talked, indeed, at times to such an extent
that Betty was obliged to beg him to stop, as she could
not get on with her work. This generally led to a
pause of a quarter of an hour or so, during which
Holm would sit watching her over his glasses while
she entered up from daybook to ledger with a certain
careless ease. Wonderful, thought Holm to himself,
how attractive a fair-haired girl can look when she's
dark eyebrows and eyelashes, and those blue eyes.
Pity she always keeps her mouth tight shut, and hides
her lovely teeth.</p>

<p>He sat lost in contemplation, watching her so intently
that she flushed right up to her fair head.</p>

<p>"There's the telephone, Mr. Holm," she said
desperately, at last, by way of diverting his attention.</p>

<p>"Thanks very much, but I never use the telephone
myself. I don't care to stand there like a fool talking
down a tube, and likely as not with half a dozen people
listening all over the place. No, thank you, I don't
think my special brand of eloquence is suited to the
telephone service."</p>

<p>Holm always refused to speak to people on the
telephone, possibly because he knew that he often
said a good deal without reflection and did not care
to have witnesses to it, afterwards. Anyhow, he
regarded the telephone as one of the plagues of modern
times. "If the devil had offered a prize," he would
say, "for the best instrument of bother and annoyance
to mankind, that fellow Edison should have
got it."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_40" id="Page_40" title="[Pg 40]"></a>
The telephone rang, and Betty went to answer it.</p>

<p>"It's Nilson, the broker, wants to speak to you."</p>

<p>"Ask what it is."</p>

<p>"He says the big Spanish ship that came in the other
day with a cargo of salt for Hoeg's is to be sold by
auction for bottoming, and he thinks it's to be had at
a bargain."</p>

<p>"Right! thanks very much. I'll think about it."</p>

<p>Holm brightened up at the prospect of a deal, and
forgot all about Betty, blue eyes, dark lashes, fair
hair and all.</p>

<p>"Garner, get hold of Bramsen sharp as ever you
can, and tell him to go on board that Spaniard at
Hoeg's wharf, and have a thorough look round."</p>

<p>A few minutes later Bramsen himself appeared,
breathless with haste.</p>

<p>"I've been on board already, Mr. Holm, pretty
near every evening. They've a nigger cook that plays
all sorts of dance tunes on a bit of a clay warbler he's
got; it's really worth hearing...."</p>

<p>"Yes, yes, but the vessel herself. Is she any good,
do you know?"</p>

<p>"Well, not much, I take it, though it doesn't show,
perhaps. I talked to the carpenter, and he said her
bottom was as full of holes as a rusty sieve; it's only
the paint that keeps her afloat. He showed me a
queer thing too, that carpenter; I've never seen anything
like it."</p>

<p>"What sort of a thing?"</p>

<p>"It was a magic cow, he said, got it in Pensacola.
You just wind it up, and it walks along the deck, and
lowers its head and says, 'Moo-oh!'"</p>

<p>"What about the upper works?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_41" id="Page_41" title="[Pg 41]"></a>
"Well, I didn't see the works. But the upper
part's just brown hide, stuffed, I suppose."</p>

<p>"Nonsense, man; it's the ship I mean."</p>

<p>"Oh yes&mdash;well, she's smart enough to look at,
with lashings of paint and gilding and brass fittings
everywhere&mdash;the Spanish owner's no fool, I'll be
bound. Bottoming, indeed; I don't believe a word
of it."</p>

<p>"What do you mean?"</p>

<p>"Mean! why,"&mdash;Bramsen lowered his voice&mdash;"it's
just a fake, if you ask me, to make folk think they've
got an easy bargain."</p>

<p>"Anyone else been on board looking round?"</p>

<p>"Yes. Skipper Heil was there all day yesterday."</p>

<p>"Heil? Wasn't he skipper of Hermansen's <i>Valkyrie</i>?"</p>

<p>"That's it! And I'm pretty sure 'twas Hermansen
sent him down to look."</p>

<p>"Bramsen, listen to me. Not a word to a soul of
what you know about the ship; you've got to be
dumb as a doorpost. If anyone asks, you can tell
them in confidence that I sent you to look over her,
and not a word more, you understand?"</p>

<p>"Right you are, Mr. Holm. But you're not thinking
of going in for the business yourself?"</p>

<p>"You leave that to me."</p>

<p>"Very good, Mr. Holm."</p>

<p>When Bramsen was gone, Holm strode up and
down the office deep in thought.</p>

<p>"I wonder, now, if we couldn't manage to nail old
Hermansen there. H'm. It's risky, but I must have
a try at it all the same."</p>

<p>He put on his hat, and continued his sentry-go up<a class="pagenum" name="Page_42" id="Page_42" title="[Pg 42]"></a>
and down, with his thumbs in the armholes of his
waistcoat. Already he saw in his mind's eye the
Spaniard hauled up to the repair shops, and plate
after plate taken out of her bottom, till only the
superstructure remained. And finally, he himself,
as representative of the concern, would go up to the
bank and present a bill for the repairs&mdash;a bill running
into three&mdash;four&mdash;five figures!</p>

<p>He fairly tingled at the thought of that bill. Seven-sixteenth-inch
plates, re-riveting, frame-pieces and all
the various items Lloyds could hit upon as needful.</p>

<p>It was no easy matter to work out a plan of operations
on the spur of the moment. But there was no
time to be lost. It was Wednesday already, and the
ship was to be put up for auction on the Friday.</p>

<p>First of all, he must go on board himself, openly,
as a prospective buyer. This, he knew, would be at
once reported to Hermansen, who would have his
intelligence department at work.</p>

<p>On Thursday afternoon, then, Holm boarded the
Spaniard accordingly, and went over the vessel
thoroughly in the hope that Hermansen would get a
report that he, Holm, was keenly interested.</p>

<p>Early Friday morning he went down again, and was
climbing up the ladder on the port side, but on glancing
over the bulwarks he perceived the clean-shaven face
of the banker, who was just coming on board from
the opposite side.</p>

<p>Holm's first impulse was to bundle off again quickly,
but in stepping down, he managed to tread on
Bramsen's fingers, eliciting a howl which brought the
whole crew hurrying along to see what was the matter.
There was nothing for it now but to go on board,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_43" id="Page_43" title="[Pg 43]"></a>
which he did, nodding in the friendliest fashion to
Hermansen as he came up.</p>

<p>"We're competitors, then, it seems," said the
banker politely.</p>

<p>"I think not," said Holm seriously. "She's very
badly built, and I don't feel like going in for it myself."</p>

<p>"Yes? I dare say," answered the banker, with a
sidelong glance at Holm, who appeared to be scrutinising
the upper rigging.</p>

<p>"The fore and aft bulkheads are shaky too," said
Holm, well knowing that these were as good as could
be. Indeed, had the rest been up to the same standard,
the vessel would have been worth buying.</p>

<p>Hermansen walked forward, and Holm went aft.
On completing the round, they came face to face
once more.</p>

<p>"Bottom's not up to much, from what I hear,"
remarked Holm casually, as he climbed over the rail
on his way down.</p>

<p>"Very possible&mdash;very possible." There was a
slight vibration in the banker's voice as he spoke,
and Holm judged that things were going to be as he
wished.</p>

<p>The auction was fixed for one o'clock, and Holm was
there punctually to the moment. Hermansen was
nowhere to be seen. "Funny," thought Holm to
himself. "I hope to goodness he hasn't smelt a rat."</p>

<p>The conditions of sale were read; the bidding to be
understood as in agreement therewith.</p>

<p>At last the banker appeared, and sat down unobtrusively
in a corner. His presence always made
itself felt in any gathering, as imparting a certain
solemnity to the occasion. Holm, who had been<a class="pagenum" name="Page_44" id="Page_44" title="[Pg 44]"></a>
chatting gaily with the magistrate and Advocate
Schneider, sat down quietly.</p>

<p>"Well, gentlemen, to business. The frigate, <i>Don
Almariva</i>, is offered for sale to the highest bidder,
subject to the conditions just read. What offers?"</p>

<p>"2000," said Holm. A long pause followed.</p>

<p>"2000 offered, 2000. Any advance on 2000....
Come, gentlemen...."</p>

<p>Holm began to feel uneasy.</p>

<p>"2050." It was the banker's sonorous voice.</p>

<p>"2200," snapped out Holm, on the instant.</p>

<p>"2250," from the corner, a little more promptly
than before.</p>

<p>"2400," Holm was there again at once.</p>

<p>Matters were getting critical now: Holm sat looking
steadily in front of him, not daring to look round.
The minutes were uncomfortably long, he felt as if
he were on a switchback, or in the throes of approaching
sea-sickness.</p>

<p>"2400&mdash;two thousand four hundred pounds offered,
gentlemen. Any advance on 2400? 2400, going&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Holm was on the verge of apoplexy now. What
if he should have to present that bill for repairs to
himself, after all?</p>

<p>Skipper Heil moved over to Hermansen and
whispered in his ear. All were turned towards the
pair&mdash;all save Holm, who sat as before, stiff as a statue
in his place, looking rigidly before him.</p>

<p>The auctioneer stood with his hammer raised, his
eyes on the banker in his corner.</p>

<p>"Going&mdash;going&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"2500," said the banker. At last!</p>

<p>Holm gave a start as if something had pricked him<a class="pagenum" name="Page_45" id="Page_45" title="[Pg 45]"></a>
behind, and looked across with a curious expression
at Hermansen, who sat as impassive as ever.</p>

<p>The hammer fell. Holm went across to the banker,
raised his hat and bowed. "Congratulations, my dear
sir; the vessel's yours. A little faulty in the bottom,
as I mentioned before, but still, taking it all round,
<em>I should say it was quite a fair deal</em>!"</p>

<p>Holm went out into the street, and, meeting Bramsen,
who had been present out of curiosity, took him by
the shoulders and shook him. "Bramsen, my boy,
I've got him this time. Hermansen's let himself in
for it with a vengeance!"</p>

<p>"Lord, Mr. Holm, but you gave me a fright before
it was over. I don't believe I've ever been in such a
tremble all my sinful life&mdash;unless it was the time I
jumped across old Weismann's bull."</p>

<p>"Weismann's bull? What was that?"</p>

<p>"Why, it was one day I was standing outside the
warehouse as innocent as a babe unborn, filling up a
herring barrel, and before I knew where I was there
was a great beast of a bull rushing down on me at full
gallop. They'd been taking him down to the slaughter-house,
and he'd broke away. Well, I couldn't get into
the barrel, seeing it was more than half full as it was,
and there wasn't time to get across to the sheds; the
brute's horns were right on top of me, like a huge
great pitchfork, and I reckoned Paal Abrahamsen's
days were numbered. And then suddenly I got a
revelation. I took a one&mdash;two&mdash;three, hop and a
jump, and just as the beast thought he'd got me on
the nail, up I went with an elegant somersault and
landed clean astride of him, as neat as a&mdash;as an
<span class="sic" title="[sic]">equidestrian</span> statue."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_46" id="Page_46" title="[Pg 46]"></a>
"But how did you get down again?"</p>

<p>"Why, that was as easy as winking, seeing he flung
me off and down Mrs. Brekke's cellar stairs, so I felt
it a fortnight after."</p>

<p>On his way down to the office, Holm met a number
of people who were all anxious to know who had bought
the Spaniard. Holm was at no pains to uphold <i>Don
Almariva's</i> reputation. When Nilsen the broker came
up to congratulate him on his supposed purchase, he
exclaimed: "Not me, my lad! Why, she's full of
holes as a rusty sieve." And he walked off, singing:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"He needs be something more than bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who'd fill his purse with Spanish gold."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Altogether, it was a red-letter day for Knut Holm.
And on entering the office he confided to Betty that
he had paid Banker Hermansen in full for that matter
of the building site. He told her, also, how he and the
banker had been secretly at war for years past, confessing
frankly that up to now the honours had been
with the other side.</p>

<p>It was Hermansen who had hindered his election to
the Town Council, and possibly afterwards to parliament;
all along he had barred his way&mdash;until now.
And to-day, at last, the wind had changed, he had
gained his first victory; now perhaps the banker's
fortunes would begin to wane, in the town and farther
afield&mdash;for he was a man of some influence in the
country generally.</p>

<p>Holm stood at first bent slightly over the desk, but
as he talked, and his enthusiasm increased, he drew
himself up, a figure of such power and energy that
Betty felt the banker would need to be well equipped<a class="pagenum" name="Page_47" id="Page_47" title="[Pg 47]"></a>
indeed to outdo him. She grew more and more
interested as he went on, following him with her eyes,
until he came over to her and said: "I don't mind
telling you, Miss Betty, it's not only Banker Hermansen,
but the whole pack of them in the town here,
that shrugged their shoulders and laughed behind my
back at everything I did.</p>

<p>"Yes, and I've felt it, too, you may be sure, though
I didn't show it. I've been cheerful and easy-going
all along, and, thanks to that, I can say I've done
two things at least: I've pleased my friends and
vexed my enemies!</p>

<p>"And then the children upstairs, they've never
really understood me; just looked on me as a sort of
automatic machine for laying golden eggs. Lord, but
I'd like to put their nose out of joint one day, the
whole lot of them&mdash;make them take off their hats and
look up to see where Knut G. Holm had got to."</p>

<p>He tried to take her hand, but she drew it back
sharply, and with a blush retreated behind the shelter
of her books.</p>

<p>"You think I'm a queer sort, don't you?"</p>

<p>"Not that, Mr. Holm. I was thinking you're a
strong man. I've always longed to meet men that
were not afraid to face the real hard things of
life."</p>

<p>"You're right in that; one doesn't often find a
man who's ready to risk anything really for his own
convictions. It's easy enough to get into one's shell
and rub along comfortably in flannel and carpet slippers,
to shout with the crowd and agree politely to all that's
said, be generally amiable and popular accordingly&mdash;but
it's too cramped and stifling for me. I must have<a class="pagenum" name="Page_48" id="Page_48" title="[Pg 48]"></a>
room to breathe, if I have to get out in the cold to
do it."</p>

<p>He strode through into the shop, and she heard
him talking to Garner about having the whole of the
premises altered now, lighter and brighter, with big
plate-glass windows, and the floor sunk to make it
loftier.</p>

<p>Betty sat for a long while thinking deeply over
what Holm had said. Several times she turned to
her books, but only to fall back into the same train of
thought; somehow it was impossible to work to-day.</p>

<p>A strange man, he was, indeed, and she did not
quite like his being so confidential towards her. But
an honest heart, of that she felt sure, and a man one
could not help liking and helping as far as one could.
Holm came into the office a little while after, and
found it empty. Betty had gone. He stood awhile
by her desk, then picked up the glass with the yellow
roses in, and smelt them.</p>

<p>"Women, women"&mdash;he looked at the roses&mdash;"these
little trifles are the weapons that count. H'm. Now
would it be so strange after all if I did marry again?
There's not much comfort to be looked for upstairs
as things are now&mdash;and she's a clever girl as well as
pretty. The youngsters, of course, would make no
end of fuss, but I'd have to put up with that."</p>

<p>Just then William came in, smoking a cigarette.</p>

<p>"Wanted to speak to you, father."</p>

<p>"Right you are, my boy! speak away!"</p>

<p>"Well, it's like this. Marie and I, we can't go on
as we have been doing lately."</p>

<p>Holm turned quickly. "You mean to say you're
going to turn over a new leaf?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_49" id="Page_49" title="[Pg 49]"></a>
"I mean, we must get away from here. Marie's
budding talent will never thrive here, and I&mdash;I shall
grow stale if I don't get away soon. We want to
travel."</p>

<p>"I see&mdash;well, travel along with you then; don't
mind me."</p>

<p>"We want to go to Paris. Mrs. Rantzau, who is
herself a distinguished artist, says it's the only thing
for us, to go to Paris and complete our education.
There is no hope of developing one's talents in a place
like this&mdash;they simply wither and die."</p>

<p>"Ah, that would be a pity."</p>

<p>"Father, you must let us go. Don't you think
yourself, you ought to make some little sacrifice for
your only son?"</p>

<p>"You think I haven't done enough? Wasn't it
for your sake I married your foster-mother? Haven't
I thrown away hundreds of pounds on your miserable
education as you call it, and your fantastic inventions
in the engineering line that never came to anything?
I could ill spare the money at the time, I can assure
you."</p>

<p>"Oh, now I suppose we're to have the old story
over again, with the £150."</p>

<p>"It won't do you any harm to hear it again. Where
would you have been, or I and the lot of us, in
1875, if Knut G. Holm hadn't got that £150 from
C. Henrik Pettersen. Down and under, and that with
a vengeance."</p>

<p>"It was very good of Pettersen, I'm sure."</p>

<p>"Pettersen it was; it couldn't have been anyone
else. The money was sent anonymously, as you
know, the very morning I was thinking of putting up<a class="pagenum" name="Page_50" id="Page_50" title="[Pg 50]"></a>
the shutters and giving up for good. Just the money,
and a slip of paper, no business heading, only 'Herewith
£150, a gift from one who wishes you well.' That
was all, no signature, only a cross, or an 'x' or whatever
it was, at the foot."</p>

<p>"Only an 'x'?"</p>

<p>"That was absolutely all. I puzzled my brains to
think out who the good soul could be, but could never
bring it round to anyone but C. Henrik Pettersen, my
old friend. Though it wasn't like him, and that's the
truth."</p>

<p>"You mean he was close-fisted generally?"</p>

<p>"He was a business man, my boy, if ever there was
one. But we knew each other better than most. I
was in the know about his dairy butter at fifty per cent.
profit&mdash;though the Lord knows I wouldn't say a word
against him now he's dead and gone."</p>

<p>"But didn't you ask him straight out if it was he
that sent the money?"</p>

<p>"I should think I did. But he was one of those
people that won't say more than they want to. I
could never make him out myself. He used to just
sit there and smile and never say a word, but got me
on to talk instead."</p>

<p>"Well, I suppose it couldn't be anyone else?"</p>

<p>"It was him sure enough. He was an old bachelor,
and an eccentric sort of fellow, with nobody to leave
his money to, so it wasn't altogether strange he should
send me that little bit of all he'd made, in return for
all the yarns I'd told to brighten him up. Anyway,
things took a turn for the better after that, and I
pulled round all right, so I've nothing to worry about
now, in spite of all you've cost me."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_51" id="Page_51" title="[Pg 51]"></a>
"It wasn't so much, I'm sure. And if only that
aerial torpedo of mine had gone right, I'd have paid
you back with interest."</p>

<p>"But it went wrong&mdash;and so did you, my good sir;
and if you talk about sacrifice, why, I think it was
sacrifice enough, after I'd thrown away £200 on the
wretched thing, to come out myself to the parade
ground and see the thing go awry."</p>

<p>"By an unfortunate accident."</p>

<p>"A very fortunate accident, if you ask me, that
it didn't come down where we stood, or it might have
done for a whole crowd of innocent folk that were
simple enough to come out and look."</p>

<p>"I don't know, I'm sure, what you want to drag
up that old story again for."</p>

<p>"Because I want you to keep to earth in future.
Stay at home&mdash;on the mat, if you like it that way."</p>

<p>"Will you help us to go to Paris, or will you not?"</p>

<p>"Honestly, then, I should call it throwing money
away to do anything of the sort."</p>

<p>"But if you knew that people who really know
something about art considered it absolutely necessary
for our future, for the development of our talents as
artists, then would you let us go?"</p>

<p>"Competent judges to decide, you mean?"</p>

<p>"If you will, we've both of us faith enough in our
calling, and in our future as artists."</p>

<p>"Well, that sounds reasonable enough, I admit."</p>

<p>"You will not accept Mrs<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span> Rantzau's decision
alone? She is well known, not only as a teacher of
singing herself, but her husband had a great reputation
as an author and art critic, so she's heard and
seen a great deal. And she said the other day that<a class="pagenum" name="Page_52" id="Page_52" title="[Pg 52]"></a>
the little seascape of mine up in the Art Society's
place was excellent; the sky in particular was finely
drawn, she said."</p>

<p>"I've no doubt she's a very clever woman. I
haven't the honour of her acquaintance myself, but
I must say I think a great deal of her daughter, in
the office here."</p>

<p>"Oh, Betty's just the opposite of her mother&mdash;she's
no idea of art whatever."</p>

<p>"No, poor child, I dare say she's had quite enough
both of poverty and humbug."</p>

<p>"Really, father, I don't think you're justified in
saying things like that."</p>

<p>"That may be, my son. But if you two young
people are set on making artists of yourselves, why, do.
And if you can give me a reasonable guarantee that
it's any good trying, why, I won't stand in your
way."</p>

<p>"I think we can, then."</p>

<p>And William went up to tell Marie what had passed.
Holm sat for a while occupied with his own thoughts,
and came at last to the conclusion that the children
were "artist-mad," and got it badly. He must manage
to get hold of this Mrs. Rantzau, and see if she could
not be persuaded to use her influence to get these ideas
out of their heads&mdash;especially now, since her daughter
was in the office.</p>

<p>There was a gentle tap at the door. It was little
Hans, who stood timidly looking up at him.</p>

<p>"Well, Hans, lad, and how's the music getting on?
I hope you've made friends with your teacher?"</p>

<p>He drew the boy over to a seat beside him on the
sofa. Hans carefully placed his cap over one knee,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_53" id="Page_53" title="[Pg 53]"></a>
for his trousers were torn, and he did not want it to
be seen.</p>

<p>"Have you been for your lesson every day?"</p>

<p>"Yes, till the day before yesterday, but then I
hurt my hand chopping wood for mother, so I've got
to wait a few days till it's well." And he held out
one thin little hand, showing two fingers badly bruised
and raw.</p>

<p>"Poor little man! I must tell Bramsen to lend you
a hand with the chopping."</p>

<p>"And, please, I was to bring you this letter from
Mr. Bess; he asked me to take it up to you myself.
It's the bill for my lessons, I think," he added quickly,
"and he wants the money because of the rent." Hans
was well acquainted with such things from his own
home life, and having heard the organist and his wife
talking about the rent falling due, he at once took it
for granted that the case was as urgent then as when
his own mother lay awake at nights wondering how to
meet a similar payment.</p>

<p>Holm took the letter and read:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"In accordance with your request, I have been
giving lessons for some time to little Hans Martinsen,
whose gift for music is really surprising. Though I do
not consider myself fully qualified to judge the precise
value of his talent, I would say, as my personal opinion,
that the child shows quite unusual promise. And I
am convinced that with skilful and attentive tuition,
he could in time become a player of mark.</p>

<p>"I am an old man now, and am not otherwise competent
to train such talent as it should be trained, but
as a lover of music myself, I beg you to assist the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_54" id="Page_54" title="[Pg 54]"></a>
child; you will find your reward, I'm sure. If I could
afford it, I would gladly contribute as far as I was able,
but as you know I am not in a position to do so. I
will not, however, accept any payment for the lessons
given, but should be glad to feel that I have made
some little offering myself towards his future."</p></div>

<p>Holm read the letter through once more.</p>

<p>"Little man, we must send you to Christiania to
study there. I'll arrange it all, and you shall have
the best teacher that's to be had."</p>

<p>Hans sat twirling his cap, and made no answer.</p>

<p>"Well, Hans, aren't you glad? Wouldn't you like
to go on with your music?"</p>

<p>"Yes, but I can't. I can't go away and leave
mother; there'll be nobody to help her then."</p>

<p>"Don't worry about that, my boy; your mother
shall go with you. No more washing; all she'll need
to do will be just to look after you."</p>

<p>"But&mdash;how? Mother couldn't go away like that!"</p>

<p>"We'll manage that all right. It's very simple.
I'll lend your mother the money, do you see, and
then, when you've learnt enough and can play properly
yourself, you can pay it back&mdash;if you want to, that is."</p>

<p>"Oh&mdash;oh, how good you are! May I run home and
tell mother, now?"</p>

<p>"Yes, run along and tell her as quickly as you like.
Only understand, not a word to anyone else about it.
I'll come round this evening, anyway, and fix it all
up."</p>

<p>Hans, in his delight, forgot all about hiding the hole
in his trousers; he grasped his friend's hands and
looked at him with glistening eyes.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_55" id="Page_55" title="[Pg 55]"></a>
"Is it really true&mdash;that I'm to go to Christiania?"</p>

<p>"True as ever could be, little lad, and now off you
go&mdash;I'll come along soon."</p>

<p>Holm took the organist's letter and read it through
once again.</p>

<p>"Noble old fellow&mdash;so you'd sacrifice your hard-earned
money and give your trouble for nothing?
Not if I know it; you shan't be a loser there. And as
for Hans, I'll see to his education myself. He shall
go to Paris instead of those madcap youngsters with
their parties. My '52 Madeira too! But we'll soon
put a stop to that."</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_56" id="Page_56" title="[Pg 56]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V<br />
MRS. RANTZAU'S STORY</h2>


<p>She was a teacher of singing, and had only
recently settled in the town. Holm had never
seen her, but now that her daughter was
working in his office, and Marie had begun taking
lessons with Mrs. Rantzau herself, he felt it his duty
to call.</p>

<p>Moreover, he had some secret hope that it might
be possible here to find an ally in his plan for combating
Marie's artistic craze. In addition to which, she was
Betty's mother....</p>

<p>The place was four storeys up, and Holm, tired after
his climb, sat down at the top of the stairs for a
moment before ringing the bell.</p>

<p>Tra-la-la-la-la-la&mdash;he could hear a woman's voice
singing scales inside, the same thing over and over
again. A little after came another voice, which he
took to be Mrs. Rantzau's.</p>

<p>"Mouth wide open, please; that's it&mdash;now
breathe!"</p>

<p>Holm rang the bell and Mrs. Rantzau opened the
door.</p>

<p>He stood dumbfounded for a moment, staring at her.</p>

<p>"Heavens alive&mdash;it can't be&mdash;Bianca, is it really
you?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_57" id="Page_57" title="[Pg 57]"></a>
She turned pale, came close to him and whispered:</p>

<p>"For Heaven's sake, not a word." Then, taking
him by the arm, she thrust him gently into a room
adjoining.</p>

<p>He heard the young lady take her departure, and a
moment later Mrs. Rantzau stood before him.</p>

<p>She was still a magnificently handsome woman.
The dark eyes were deep and clear as ever, the black
hair waved freely over the forehead, albeit with a
thread of silver here and there. Her figure was
slender and well-poised, her whole appearance eloquent
of energy and life.</p>

<p>"If you knew how I have dreaded this moment,
Mr. Holm," she began, then suddenly stopped.</p>

<p>"H'm&mdash;yes. It's a good many years now since
last we met, Bianca&mdash;beg pardon, Mrs. Rantzau, I
mean."</p>

<p>"Fifteen&mdash;yes, it's fifteen years ago. And much
has happened since then. I didn't know really
whether to go and call on you myself, and ask you not
to say anything about the way we met, and how I
was living then. But then again, I thought you must
have forgotten me ages ago."</p>

<p>"Forgotten! Not if I live to be a hundred."</p>

<p>"And then, too, I thought it might be awkward
for Betty if I tried to renew our old acquaintance; you
might be offended, and not care to keep her on at the
office...."</p>

<p>"But&mdash;my dear lady&mdash;however could you imagine
such a thing?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I know how good and kind you were when I
knew you before&mdash;but people change sometimes.
And you can understand, I'm sure, Mr. Holm, that<a class="pagenum" name="Page_58" id="Page_58" title="[Pg 58]"></a>
my position here, my connection with my pupils,
would be ruined if the past were known. Not that
I've anything to be ashamed of, thank God, but you
know yourself, in a little town like this, how people
would look at a woman&mdash;or even a man, for that
matter&mdash;whose life has been so&mdash;so unusual as mine."</p>

<p>"Dear lady, I understand, of course, but I should
never have thought of mentioning a word of our
relations in the past."</p>

<p>"Thanks, thanks! Oh, I can see now you have not
changed. Kind and thoughtful as ever; you were
good to me, Mr. Holm&mdash;not like the others." Her
voice trembled a little, and she grasped his hand.</p>

<p>Holm flushed slightly, murmured a few polite words,
and thought&mdash;of Betty.</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau continued: "I should like you to
understand, to realise yourself the position I was
placed in then. Will you let me tell you the whole
story&mdash;if you've time?"</p>

<p>"Indeed I've time&mdash;you took up quite a considerable
amount of my time before, you know," he added
kindly.</p>

<p>"Ah, I see you're the same as ever, Mr. Holm,
always bright and cheerful over things."</p>

<p>"Why, yes, I'm glad to say. It would be a pity
not to."</p>

<p>"Well, let me begin. My life hasn't been a path of
roses&mdash;far from it; it's been mostly thorns. If only I
could write, I might make quite an exciting story of
it all. I'm forty-two now, started life as a parson's
daughter up in the north, was married to a poet, and
lived with him in Paris; my child was born, and I
was left a widow then. I had to keep myself and Betty<a class="pagenum" name="Page_59" id="Page_59" title="[Pg 59]"></a>
by the work of my hands; sang at concerts, and
accompanied in Hamburg, lived as a countess in
Westphalia&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What&mdash;a countess?"</p>

<p>"Well, very nearly. But I'll tell you about that
later. I taught French in Copenhagen, and painting
in Gothenburg, was housekeeper to a lawyer in a
little Norwegian town, nearly married him but not
quite, and ended up here teaching singing. So you
see I've been a good many things in my time."</p>

<p>"But tell me&mdash;tell me all about it," exclaimed
Holm eagerly.</p>

<p>"Mr. Holm, you know the darkest part of all my
life; it is only fair that you should know the rest.
I've nothing to be ashamed of, for after all I have
managed to earn a livelihood for myself and Betty.
I was seventeen when I left home, and they said I
was quite good-looking&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"You're equal to anything on the market now, as
we say in business&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Well, I came straight from the wilds of the Nordland
to Christiania, and they called me 'the Nordland
sun.' I was the most sought after at all the dances,
and perhaps one of the most brilliant, for I came to
the gay life of the capital with the freshness of a novice.
It was not long before I became engaged to a young
writer&mdash;a poet, he was&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"The devil you did! Beg pardon, I'm sure, but
to tell the truth I've no faith in that sort of people,
as Banker Hermansen would say."</p>

<p>"We were both of us young and inexperienced; he
dreamed of gaining world-wide fame by his pen, and
I used to weep over his passionate love poems. I was<a class="pagenum" name="Page_60" id="Page_60" title="[Pg 60]"></a>
eighteen and he twenty-two, and I promised to follow
him to the end of the world, for better or worse.</p>

<p>"Then one fine day we landed in Paris, without
caring a jot for our people, our friends, or our own
country. We were married there at the Swedish
Church, and there I was, a poet's wife, with my
people at home trying to forget the black sheep of
the family.</p>

<p>"A few years passed. But every day saw the
breaking of one of the golden threads in our web of
illusion, and when Betty was born we were in desperate
straits.</p>

<p>"Poor old Thor, he used to sit up late at night
writing stuff for the papers at home, all about magnificent
functions he'd never been to at all, and warming
his frozen fingers over a few bits of coal in the stove."</p>

<p>"And he might have made quite a decent living in
an office," put in Holm sympathetically.</p>

<p>"Unfortunately, he imagined he was a genius, and
gradually, as things got worse and worse, the struggle
for a bare existence made him bitter, till he hated the
world, and looked upon himself as a martyr condemned
to suffering.</p>

<p>"Then he took to staying out late of an evening,
and wrote less and less. By the time we had been
there a year, the poet's wife was washing lace to keep
the home together. In the autumn of the second year,
he went down with pneumonia, and a week after the
'Nordland sun' was a widow. I couldn't go home,
for I'd cut myself adrift from them completely when
I married. There was nothing for it but to struggle
along as best I could by myself, unknown and friendless
in the great city. But, thank Heaven, I've always<a class="pagenum" name="Page_61" id="Page_61" title="[Pg 61]"></a>
had my health and a cheerful temper, and little Betty
was such a darling."</p>

<p>"Yes, she's a wonderful girl."</p>

<p>"She and I have fought our way together, Mr.
Holm, and a hard fight it has been at times, believe
me.</p>

<p>"Well, we got along somehow in Paris, for a few
years, doing needlework, or giving music lessons at
fifty centimes an hour. It was a cheerless existence
mostly, as you can imagine, and if it hadn't been for
the child I should have broken down long before.</p>

<p>"Then at last I got the offer of a place as accompanist
at a concert hall in Hamburg, with a salary of
a hundred marks a month for three hours' work every
evening and two rehearsals a week. This was splendid,
and I was in the highest spirits when I left Paris.
Besides, it was a little nearer home, and I used to be
desperately home-sick at times, though I knew it was
hopeless to think of going back.</p>

<p>"Imagine my feelings, then, when I got to the
place and found it was a common music hall; though
very decent, really, for a place of that sort."</p>

<p>"It was a beautiful place&mdash;at least, I thought so,
when I saw you there."</p>

<p>"Well, there I sat, night after night, accompanying
all sorts of more or less third-rate artistes. It used
to make me wild, I remember, when they sang false,
or were awkward in their gestures; I used to look at
them in a way they would remember. And really,
I managed to make them respect me after a time,
though I was only twenty-five myself.</p>

<p>"Then, besides my evenings there, I gradually
worked up a little connection giving music and singing<a class="pagenum" name="Page_62" id="Page_62" title="[Pg 62]"></a>
lessons outside, till I was making enough to live
fairly comfortably.</p>

<p>"But one day the whole staff went on strike, and
left at a moment's notice, and there we were. The
manager&mdash;you remember him, I dare say, Sonnenthal;
man with a black waxed moustache and a big diamond
pin&mdash;he came running in to me and said I must sing
myself; it would never do to close down altogether
in the height of the season. He thought he would
get at least a couple of other turns, and if I would
help it would get us over the difficulty.</p>

<p>"I told him I couldn't think of it&mdash;said I had no
talent for that sort of thing; but he insisted, and
offered me fifty marks a night if I would.</p>

<p>"Fifty marks was a fabulous sum to me for one
night, then, after living on a franc and a half a day
in Paris, and it meant so much for Betty. I began
to think it over.</p>

<p>"And really I felt sure myself that I could do
better than these half-civilised cabaret singers, from
Lord knows where, that I'd been playing to for so
long. But the parson's daughter found it hard to
come down to performing like that.</p>

<p>"Then Sonnenthal offered me sixty marks. He
thought, of course, it was only a question of money.
It was too good to refuse, and I agreed.</p>

<p>"He got out new posters, with big lettering:</p>

<div class="center">
<p class="b0">'SIGNORA BIANCA</p>

<p><span class="smcap">The World-renowned Singer from Milan
now Appearing.</span>'</p></div>

<p>"I remember how furious I was when the dresser
came in to make me up, and I flung her paints and<a class="pagenum" name="Page_63" id="Page_63" title="[Pg 63]"></a>
powders across the room. Sonnenthal came round
and wanted me to go on in short skirts, but I told
him in so many words that I was going to do it my
own way or not at all; and, knowing how he was
situated, of course he had to give in.</p>

<p>"I think he was impressed by the way I stood up
to him. A little Roumanian girl, a pale, dark-eyed
creature, who was simply terrified of Sonnenthal,
like all the rest of them, came in to me afterwards
and threw her arms round my neck and thanked me
for having given him a lesson at last.</p>

<p>"It was with very mixed feelings that I went on
that night for my first performance. The audience,
of course, was composed of all sorts, and the performers
were often interrupted by shouting, not
always of applause.</p>

<p>"The house was full&mdash;it was packed. Sonnenthal
knew how to advertise a thing.</p>

<p>"I gave them 'A Mountain Maid' to start with,
a touching little thing, and I put enough feeling into
it to move a stone, but not a hand was raised to
applaud. Then I tried 'Solveig's Song' from <i>Peer
Gynt</i>&mdash;that too was received with chilling silence.</p>

<p>"When I came off after the first two, I could see
the others smiling maliciously: there's plenty of
jealousy in that line of business. But it set my blood
boiling, and I felt that irresistible impulse to go in and
do something desperate, as I always do when anything
gets in my way.</p>

<p>"I rushed on again, and gave the word to the
orchestra for 'The Hungarian Gipsy,' a thing all
trills and yodelling and such-like trick work&mdash;a show
piece.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_64" id="Page_64" title="[Pg 64]"></a>
"I put all I knew into it this time, and yodelled
away till the audience left their beer-glasses untouched
on the tables&mdash;and that's saying a good deal with a
crowd like that.</p>

<p>"When I finished, the hall rang with a thunder of
applause&mdash;everyone shouting and cheering. I had to
come before the curtain again and again. But I
wouldn't give them an encore that time. I thought
it best to have something in reserve, and not make
myself cheap like the others.</p>

<p>"As I came off the last time, I couldn't help saying
half aloud what I thought of my respected audience&mdash;<em>clowns</em>!</p>

<p>"But I'd found out how to handle them now, and
I gave them the stuff they wanted, and plenty of it.
I knew the sort of thing well enough. For years
they'd sat listening to the same type of short-skirted,
rouged and powdered womenfolk, with the same more
or less risky songs, the same antiquated kick-ups and
the same cheap favour in their eyes. I took care myself
always to appear as a lady, chose first-rate songs,
and, as my salary increased&mdash;for I drew Sonnenthal
gradually up the scale as I wished&mdash;I was able to dress
in a style that astonished them.</p>

<p>"Do you remember when I sang 'The Carnival of
Venice'?"</p>

<p>"Do I not! Saints alive, but you were a wonder
to see. Every evening, all the month I was there,
I came just to sit and look at you."</p>

<p>"Listen, you mean?"</p>

<p>"Well, perhaps that's what I ought to say. Anyhow,
I know I strewed flowers enough at your feet
that winter, though they cost me a mark apiece."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_65" id="Page_65" title="[Pg 65]"></a>
"Yes, you were kind, I know. But do you remember
the dress I wore for that carnival thing?
The bodice all white roses, and red and yellow for the
skirt&mdash;it was a success&mdash;a sensation! 'Flowers in
spring' ah!"</p>

<p>She rose to her feet, and took a step forward, singing
as she moved.</p>

<p>"When I came to that part, they all wanted to
join in, but I had only to hold out my hand, so, and
all was quiet in a moment, you remember?"</p>

<p>"Yes, indeed, you had a wonderful power over the
sterner sex; I felt it myself, I know. I swear I've
never been more completely head over ears before or
since."</p>

<p>"Oh, nonsense, Mr. Holm," she protested, with a
hearty laugh, "we're past that sort of thing now, both
of us. But you were good to me then, and I shall
never forget it. I had enough and to spare in the way
of offers and attentions, not to speak of making
people furious because I always refused their invitation
to champagne suppers behind the scenes."</p>

<p>"That was just what gave you the position and
influence you had, I think."</p>

<p>"Yes, I think it was. I know that all the time I
was there, yours was the only invitation I ever accepted,
because you were a fellow-countryman, and so kind
and considerate as well.</p>

<p>"I remember as if it were yesterday that dinner at
the 'Pforte.' There was a pheasant, with big tail-feathers
large as life, do you remember? And when
we got to the coffee, you wanted to hear the story of
my life&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And you were silent as an Egyptian mummy."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_66" id="Page_66" title="[Pg 66]"></a>
"My parents were still living then, Mr. Holm, and
I wished at least to spare them the sorrow of learning
that their daughter was performing on the music-hall
stage. Well, but I must go on.</p>

<p>"Fortunately, you were the only fellow-countryman
I ever came in contact with while I was there;
and, of course, I kept my nationality a secret as far
as possible.</p>

<p>"When the summer came, I was so sick and tired
of the life and the half-civilised surroundings, that I
threw it up, and went to Copenhagen. I had saved
enough by that time to keep me more or less comfortable
for a while at least. But there was one little
adventure I must tell about, before I left."</p>

<p>"This is getting quite exciting," said Holm, changing
his seat and placing himself directly opposite her.
"Go on. I'm curious to know."</p>

<p>"Well, I was as near as could be to becoming a
Countess."</p>

<p>"Were you, though! How did it happen?"</p>

<p>"It's not altogether exceptional, you know, in the
profession. But my little affair there is soon told.
One of my most devoted admirers was a tall middle-aged
man, well built, handsome, with dark hair and a
big moustache. He looked like a military man. He
was always most elegantly dressed, in a black frock-coat,
with the red ribbon of some Order in his buttonhole.</p>

<p>"One evening, when I'd just finished dressing for
the 'Carnival of Venice' thing, a card was brought
in, bearing the name of Count&mdash;well, never mind his
name. It was the Count that did it, I'm afraid.</p>

<p>"I invariably used to return cards brought in that<a class="pagenum" name="Page_67" id="Page_67" title="[Pg 67]"></a>
way, and take no notice. But this time I suppose my
vanity got the better of me for once, and I let him
come in.</p>

<p>"He made me a most respectful bow, and handed
me a magnificent bouquet tied with ribbon in the
Italian colours. I was supposed to be from Milan,
you know. He spoke excellent French, and seemed
altogether a gentleman of the first water&mdash;or blood,
I suppose one would say.</p>

<p>"He told me about his home, his estates and his
family affairs in the most simple and natural manner.
I could not help liking him a little from the first. He
was in Hamburg on business&mdash;some lawsuit or other&mdash;and
dropping into the place one evening to pass the
time, he could not help noticing me particularly.</p>

<p>"He was not sparing of his compliments, I must
say; he praised me up to the skies, as an artist, of
course. My voice had astonished, delighted, enchanted
him, he told me so at once. And ended up by advising
me to try the opera stage&mdash;offered to help me himself
in every way possible, which, he said, might mean
something, as he had many influential friends in that
quarter. I told him, however, quite frankly, that I
was perfectly aware myself as to the qualifications
needed for operatic work, and had sense enough to
realise that I could never succeed in that way. He
was evidently surprised at my attitude, but I simply
thanked him for his kindness, and got rid of him then
for the time being. But he came again regularly
every evening, bringing me flowers, and at last he
made a formal proposal in the most charming manner,
laying his title, estates and all the rest of it at my
feet.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_68" id="Page_68" title="[Pg 68]"></a>
"It was tempting, of course, but thank goodness I
had always had a pretty fair share of common sense,
especially as I got older. I told him I regretted I did
not know him sufficiently well to take so serious a
step, but promised to think it over."</p>

<p>"That was a plucky thing to do. There are not
many who would have taken it like that."</p>

<p>"It was just plain common sense. The Count was
a little huffy, though, and hinted that he had expected
me to say yes on the spot.</p>

<p>"This happened about a week before my engagement
was up, and I had already, as I told you, decided
to go to Copenhagen for a bit.</p>

<p>"I must confess that there were moments when I
was weak enough to think seriously of accepting the
Count, but, fortunately, chance came to my help.
There was an old Catholic priest at the house where
I was staying, and I told him all about it. He undertook
to make inquiries about the Count, and a few
days after he had found out everything there was to
know. He <em>was</em> a Count right enough&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"No, really? I hadn't expected that."</p>

<p>"Well, he was&mdash;but as poor as a church mouse!
He had been an officer in the army, and inherited an
ancient title and a castle with heavily encumbered
estates from his father, but squandered all there was
left in his youth; now he was a sort of travelling
inspector for an insurance company, and lived for the
rest by his wits."</p>

<p>"And that was the end of the Count?"</p>

<p>"Yes, of course; but, you see, I was very near
becoming a Countess."</p>

<p>"And then you went to Copenhagen?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_69" id="Page_69" title="[Pg 69]"></a>
"Yes, and after that my story's simple enough. I
stayed there some years, teaching music and painting,
managed to get along comfortably enough. Betty
started going to school, and we were as happy as
could be."</p>

<p>"But how did you manage to escape further offers
all that time in Copenhagen?</p>

<p>"Oh, you seem to imagine I had nothing else to
think of but getting married. No, indeed, when one's
gone through as much as I have, one thinks twice
before venturing a second time. Well, as the years
went on, and being in Denmark and more in touch
with my own country, I began to long for home again.
I thought surely all would be forgotten by now, and
I should be able to make a living there. But it was
not so easy after all. I got a step nearer when I was
offered a post as teacher at a school in Gothenburg;
I stayed there five long years. I had already sent
Betty to board with a decent family in Norway, that
she might not grow up altogether a foreigner, and now
I was only waiting for the chance of coming home
myself.</p>

<p>"My parents were dead. I had no relatives or
friends to come back to, and yet for all that I was
longing to be there again.</p>

<p>"At last the day came; I shall never forget the
moment when we sighted the first glimpse of land.
It seemed as if all my years of exile had been a dream.
I felt myself full of life and strength and happiness,
and I vowed to make a new career for myself in my
own country.</p>

<p>"I got a place as housekeeper to an old lawyer in
a little town on the coast, and lived there very comfortably<a class="pagenum" name="Page_70" id="Page_70" title="[Pg 70]"></a>
for a year; but it was too narrow, too confined,
so I moved to here&mdash;and here I am, doing what I can
to make life tolerable. I've my health and strength,
plenty of energy, and I'm very happy. And there you
have it all, Mr. Holm&mdash;the life story of Emilie Rantzau.
You can't say it's been an easy one altogether."</p>

<p>"No indeed, and I admire you for the way you have
fought through so many handicaps and trials."</p>

<p>"Thank Heaven, I've never lost my strength of will,
and now at last things seem to be getting brighter.
Betty's so happy here, and delighted with her place
at the office."</p>

<p>"Not more than I am to have her, I assure you.
It's been like constant sunshine about the place since
she came."</p>

<p>"Well, then, Mr. Holm, I hope you will keep my
secret as if it were your own. I have nothing to be
ashamed of in my past, but all the same I should not
like it to be known here as things are now."</p>

<p>"You need have no fear of that, my dear lady, I
assure you. I only hope you may be happy here, and
feel yourself in every sense at home now you have
come back&mdash;and I'm sure you deserve it after the long
struggle you have had. But I must say it has not left
its mark on you, for you're charming enough to turn
the head of more than one respectable citizen in this
little town."</p>

<p>"It's very kind of you to say so, but I think there's
no fear of that. By the way, I'm your daughter's
music-mistress, too. She seems very intelligent."</p>

<p>"H'm, as to that ... to tell the truth, I wanted
to speak to you about her. I really don't know what
to do with the child lately, the way she goes on."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_71" id="Page_71" title="[Pg 71]"></a>
"Really&mdash;oh, but surely&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I'll tell you all about it, if I may?"</p>

<p>"Yes, do."</p>

<p>"Well, it's like this. My excellent son and heir,
you must know, was a decent enough lad to begin
with. But then he somehow got in with a whole
crowd of muddle-headed youths that call themselves
artists, poets and acrobats of that sort. H'm ... you
see, I'm a plain man myself, and to my mind the whole
thing's nothing better than sheer downright laziness.
They simply won't trouble to go in for any steady
solid work in life, but go on living on this artistic
humbug, as long as they can find anyone to provide
for them."</p>

<p>"Like yourself, you mean?"</p>

<p>"Exactly. I've done a good deal in that line&mdash;up
to now. Well, these young beauties have given the
lad the idea that he's the making of a great artist,
a budding Rubens at the least, whereas I'm convinced
he couldn't even turn out a presentable signboard.
And as for the girl, she's the coming Patti of her day,
nothing less.</p>

<p>"I've raged about it, been as cross and discouraging
as could be, but precious little difference it makes.
No, they must be off to Paris, if you please, the pair
of them, on their own. And that's where I want you,
if you will, to help me stop their little game. Marie,
I know, looks up to you like a sort of Providence."</p>

<p>"But really, Mr. Holm, she <em>has</em> talent, you know."</p>

<p>"Talent be hanged. I don't care if she has. What
you've got to do is to tell her she's got a voice like
a sore-throated sheep&mdash;that's what I want. And as
for the boy, you can help me to cure him too, if you<a class="pagenum" name="Page_72" id="Page_72" title="[Pg 72]"></a>
only will. You've had some experience, you know,
in getting round the men; an old hand like you could
easily manage him, I'm sure."</p>

<p>"Really, Mr. Holm, that was a pretty compliment,
I must say."</p>

<p>"It was honestly meant, anyhow; you needn't be
angry. Let's be frank with one another. We're old
friends, you know, after all, Bianca."</p>

<p>"Holm, for Heaven's sake, <em>never</em>, never let that name
pass your lips again. Promise me!" she said, with
a glance of earnest entreaty.</p>

<p>"Forgive me, forgive me. May the devil cut out
my sinful tongue if ever I utter it again. It's the
most infernal nuisance, that tongue of mine, always
getting me into trouble one way or another, like an
alarm clock, you know, that goes off the moment you
come near it."</p>

<p>"I'll do my best, Mr. Holm, to make your daughter
give up her idea of making a career in that way. As
a matter of fact, I should have said the same thing
even if you had not asked me."</p>

<p>"Thanks, thanks. And the boy&mdash;how are we to
manage about him?"</p>

<p>"We must think it over, each in our own way, and
see what can be done. There must be some way of
putting a stop to their running wild like that, especially
with two hardened old diplomatists like you and
myself working together."</p>

<p>"I'm sure we can; and now I'll say good-bye. For
the present, at any rate, all we can do is to wait the
course of events, as the grocer said when his wife ran
off with the apprentice!"</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_73" id="Page_73" title="[Pg 73]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI<br />
"REBECCA AND THE CAMELS"</h2>


<p>On the day after Holm had been up to Mrs.
Rantzau, William and Marie came into the
office. Each wore an air of serious importance,
and Holm at once suspected something in the
wind.</p>

<p>"Father, we want to read you something. It's
from an article in the paper."</p>

<p>"Right you are, my boy&mdash;go ahead!"</p>

<p>"It's about that picture of mine, the big one of
'Rebecca and the Camels,' that's on exhibition now
in Christiania."</p>

<p>"What's she doing with the camels?"</p>

<p>"Giving them water."</p>

<p>"Oh, I see. Watering the camelias; yes, go
on."</p>

<p>"Father, I don't think it's nice of you always to be
making fun of William," put in Marie.</p>

<p>"Making fun? Not a bit of it, my dear offspring,
I'm highly interested."</p>

<p>"Don't you want to hear what the papers say about
my work?"</p>

<p>"That's just what I'm waiting for, if you'll only
begin."</p>

<p>William opened the paper and read out solemnly:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_74" id="Page_74" title="[Pg 74]"></a>
<p>"This large canvas, 'Rebecca and the Camels,' is
the work of that promising young painter, William
Holm.</p>

<p>"The most surprising feature of the picture, at a
first glance, is the courage and self-confidence displayed
by this young artist in handling so lofty a
theme.</p>

<p>"Naturally, some of the details are not altogether
happy in their execution, but, taken as a whole, one
cannot but admit that it is a real work of art, and the
country may be congratulated on adding a fresh
name to the roll of its talented artists.</p>

<p>"With the further study which, we understand, he
is shortly about to undertake in Paris, William Holm
should have a great future before him."</p></div>

<p>"Very nice, my son, very pretty indeed. And
I suppose it's your pet particular friend, Listad,
who wrote it? Does credit to his imagination, I'm
sure."</p>

<p>"It was written by a critic of ability and understanding."</p>

<p>"It would be, of course."</p>

<p>"And after that you surely can't have any objection
to our going to Paris?"</p>

<p>"We should like to go at once, papa," added Marie.</p>

<p>"I dare say you would. But I think we ought to
have a little more conclusive proof of your talent
first. Well, I will make you an offer. William, you
can send your picture to Copenhagen, and have it
exhibited there anonymously: then we will abide by
what the critics say. <a class="corr" name="TC_1" id="TC_1" title="It">If</a> it's good, why, I give in; if
it's slated, then you agree to start work in the office<a class="pagenum" name="Page_75" id="Page_75" title="[Pg 75]"></a>
here with me forthwith, and leave your paint-pots
till your leisure, to amuse yourself and your friends
apart from your work with me.</p>

<p>"And you, Marie, you can tell your music-mistress,
Mrs. Rantzau, that you are seriously thinking of
going to the opera, and ask her candid opinion of
your prospects. If she advises you to do so, well and
good, you shall go to Paris; if not, then you stay at
home and begin to learn house-keeping like any other
young woman. Isn't that fair?"</p>

<p>"Yes, that's fair enough," said William. "I'm not
afraid of what the Copenhagen critics will say."</p>

<p>"And I know Mrs. Rantzau will tell me I ought to
go on."</p>

<p>As soon as they had gone, Holm stole off quietly
to Mrs. Rantzau and told her all that had passed.</p>

<p>The young people started on their packing at once,
Marie in particular was busily occupied in completing
her wardrobe. A new travelling-dress was ordered,
and various purchases made.</p>

<p>"Don't you think it would be better to wait until
we have heard the decision of the authorities<span class="sic" title="[sic]">,</span>" suggested
Holm.</p>

<p>"Oh, but I shall hear from Mrs. Rantzau to-morrow,"
said Marie. "And it doesn't really matter, does it,
if you don't get the answer till after I've gone?"</p>

<p>"H'm, I think I'd rather have it settled first, if
it's all the same to you."</p>

<p>A week passed, however, and every day Marie had
to try over again with Mrs. Rantzau; strange how
particular she was now!</p>

<p>William had sent off his picture to Copenhagen,
and was all anxiety to learn what had been said about<a class="pagenum" name="Page_76" id="Page_76" title="[Pg 76]"></a>
it. The dealer had been instructed to send him press
cuttings as soon as they appeared.</p>

<p>On Saturday morning, when Holm went up into the
drawing-room, he found the pair very subdued.
William was in the smoking-room, which was in
darkness, looking out of the window, and Marie lay
on the sofa in tears.</p>

<p>On the table lay an open letter from Mrs. Rantzau,
as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Holm</span>,&mdash;I have for the past week
carefully and conscientiously tested your voice in
order to give my verdict without hesitation as to your
chances of making a career as a singer.</p>

<p>"I regret that as a result I can only advise you
most seriously to relinquish the idea.</p>

<p>"You have certainly a pleasing voice, but its
compass is only slight, and would never be sufficiently
powerful for concert work.</p>

<p class="b0">"By all means continue your training, you will
find it worth while, and your voice might be a source
of pleasure to your home circle and friends. I am
sure you will be a thousand times happier in that way
than in entering upon a career which could only lead
to disappointment.&mdash;Sincerely yours,</p>

<p class="sig">
"<span class="smcap">Emilie Rantzau</span>."<br />
</p>
</div>

<p>Holm read the letter, and went over to Marie.</p>

<p>"Don't cry, my child; you shall go to Paris all
right, but we'll go together this time, for a holiday."</p>

<p>"Oh, I'm so miserable&mdash;hu, hu!"</p>

<p>"It won't be for long." And Holm sat comforting
her as well as he could, until at last she went out of<a class="pagenum" name="Page_77" id="Page_77" title="[Pg 77]"></a>
her own accord to lay the table for supper&mdash;a thing
she had not troubled to do for a long time.</p>

<p>"Aha," thought Holm, "things are looking up a
bit."</p>

<p>It was not a particularly cheerful meal, however,
and William went off to his own room as soon as it
was over.</p>

<p>A few days later a bundle of newspapers arrived
by post from Copenhagen. William took the parcel
with a trembling hand, and hurried off to his room to
read them.</p>

<p>Not a word about "Rebecca and the Camels,"
beyond the dealer's advertisement of the exhibition.
Ah, yes, here was something at last. And he read
through the following, from one of the morning papers:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="bqheading b0">"<span class="smcap">Norwegian Camels</span>"</p>

<p>"A decidedly humorous work of art has been on
exhibition here the last few days.</p>

<p>"We have rarely seen visitors to the gallery so
amused as were the groups that gathered before the
large-sized canvas indicated as representing 'Rebecca
and the Camels.'</p>

<p>"The young lady with the water-jug appears to be
suffering from a pronounced gumboil, and is evidently
utterly bored with her task of acting as barmaid to
the camels; which latter, be it stated, are certainly
but distantly related, if at all, to the honourable
family of that name as represented in our Zoological
Gardens.</p>

<p>"Indeed, we have it on good authority that a
formal protest will shortly be lodged by the family
in question against the unrightful adoption of a distinguished<a class="pagenum" name="Page_78" id="Page_78" title="[Pg 78]"></a>
name by these monstrosities; the dromedaries,
too, albeit less directly concerned, are anxious
to disclaim any relationship.</p>

<p>"As for the setting, it must be admitted that the
sky is undoubtedly as blue as anyone could wish,
while cactus and cabbage grow luxuriantly about the
hoofs of the so-called camels.</p>

<p>"Such unfettered and original humour is rare in
Norwegian art; we are more accustomed to works
of serious and mystic significance from that quarter.
Presumably, the painting in question represents a new
school, and we can only congratulate the country on
the possession of so promising a young artist."</p></div>

<p>William turned very pale as he read. Then, taking
up the bundle of papers, he thrust the whole collection
into the stove, and began nervously walking up
and down.</p>

<p>An hour later he went downstairs to the office, and
took his seat at the desk, opposite Miss Rantzau.</p>

<p>Just then Holm entered from the shop. He made
no remarks, but put on his coat and went down to
the waterside, where he found Bramsen sitting in a
corner, looking troubled and unhappy.</p>

<p>"Why, what's the matter, Bramsen?"</p>

<p>"Oh, Lord, everything's going contrariwise, it
seems."</p>

<p>"Why, what's happened?"</p>

<p>"Well, there's Andrine gone and joined the Salvation
Army, with a hat like <em>that</em>!" And he made
a descriptive motion of his hands to his ears.</p>

<p>"The devil she has!"</p>

<p>"Ay, you may well say that. Downhill's better<a class="pagenum" name="Page_79" id="Page_79" title="[Pg 79]"></a>
than up, as the man said when he fell over the cliff.
But," and he sighed, "it never rains but it pours.
Amande's gone and got laid up too."</p>

<p>"Amande? Poor child! What's wrong with
her?"</p>

<p>"Doctor says she's got tulips or something in her
ears."</p>

<p>"Polypi, I suppose you mean."</p>

<p>"Well, something of that sort, anyway."</p>

<p>"Sorry to hear that, Bramsen. And I'd just come
down to tell you how splendid I was feeling myself;
haven't been so happy for years. What do you
think! William's started work at the office, and Marie's
given up the singing business. Isn't that a surprise?"</p>

<p>"Ay, that it is. Never have thought it&mdash;as the
old maid said when a young man kissed her on the
stairs. I'm glad to hear it, though&mdash;they've been
pretty average troublesome up to now."</p>

<p>"I should say so. Well, let's hope Andrine will
come to her senses as well, after a bit."</p>

<p>"She must have got it pretty badly, I tell you,
Knut. Why, only this morning if she didn't hand
me over the savings-bank book, said she'd given
up all thoughts of worldly mammon for good." And
Bramsen drew out the book from his pocket.</p>

<p>"What do you say to that, £130, 16s. 2d. She must
have been a wonder to put by all that."</p>

<p>"You're right there, Bramsen; she must be a born
manager."</p>

<p>"And now I'm going to try a steamboat. There's
one I know of that's for sale, the <i>Patriot</i>, and I believe
it's a bargain."</p>

<p>"Don't you go doing anything foolish now, Bramsen;<a class="pagenum" name="Page_80" id="Page_80" title="[Pg 80]"></a>
you're comfortably off as you are, and if you want
more wages, why, you've only got to say so."</p>

<p>"No, thanks, Knut. I'm earning well enough, and
doing first-rate all round. But it's the freedom I
want, to set out on my own again."</p>

<p>"Well, you could take a run down the fjord on
one of the coasting steamers any time you like."</p>

<p>"Ah, but it's not the same. Look at that fellow
Johnsen now, with the <i>Rap</i> hauling away with all
sorts of craft, for all he drinks like a fish. Only last
year he went on board so properly overloaded, he fell
down the hold and smashed a couple of ribs."</p>

<p>"And you want to go and do likewise? You're a
long sight better off where you are, if you ask me,
Bramsen."</p>

<p>"Well, I'll think it over, Knut. As long as I've
got all this worldly mammon in my inside pocket,
I feel like doing things with it. And there's no
knowing but Andrine might get converted back again
any day and want it back&mdash;and where'd I be then?"</p>

<p>"H'm. I hope you'll have her back again the
same as ever, before long."</p>

<p>"Why, as to that, I hope so too, and that's the
truth. But that's the more reason not to lose the
chance now she's taken that way. I've thought of
trying a share in a vessel too. There's Olsen, skipper
of the <i>Baron Holberg</i>. You must know Olsen, I'm
sure&mdash;fellow with a red beard&mdash;Baron Olsen, they
call him. He offered me a fourth share in the brig
for £65."</p>

<p>Bramsen livened up after a while, and the two
friends were soon chatting away in their usual cheery
fashion.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_81" id="Page_81" title="[Pg 81]"></a>
"What would you say to me marrying again,
Bramsen?"</p>

<p>Bramsen sat without moving for a while, then took
out his clasp-knife and began whittling at a splinter
of wood.</p>

<p>"Well, what do you say?</p>

<p>"I'd say it's a risky thing to do."</p>

<p>"It generally is, I suppose, but it's always turned
out all right up to now."</p>

<p>"You've had a deal of truck with the womenfolk
in your time, Knut. Got a way of managing them
somehow. Seems to me you start off with being sort
of friendly with them in a general way, and then they
get to running after you and want to marry you
straight away. Ay, you've a sort of way of your own
with the women for sure. Me being a simple sort of
an individual, it's the other way round&mdash;why, I had
to ask Andrine three times before she'd have me.
Would you believe it, she was as near as could be to
taking John Isaksen, that's built like a telegraph post,
and never a tooth in his mouth, so he was that afraid
of crusts they called him Crusty John."</p>

<p>"Well, women are queer cattle, you're right in
that."</p>

<p>"Ay, that they are. Like a bit of clockwork inside,
all odd bits of wheels and screws and things, little and
big, some turning this way and some that. And the
mainspring, as you might say, that's love, and that's
why there's some goes too fast, by reason of the
mainspring being stronger than it should, and others
taking it easy like, and going slow...."</p>

<p>"And some that stop altogether."</p>

<p>"Why, yes, till they get a new mainspring and start<a class="pagenum" name="Page_82" id="Page_82" title="[Pg 82]"></a>
going again. If not, why, they're done for, that's
all."</p>

<p>"You've a neat way of putting it, Bramsen. Like
a parable."</p>

<p>"And then they're mostly cased up smart and
fine, and we wear them mostly near our hearts&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Bravo! Right again!"</p>

<p>"Well, now, begging your pardon, Knut, might I
be so bold as to ask if it's a widow you've got your
eye on this time?"</p>

<p>"No, indeed, my dear fellow, it's not."</p>

<p>"Good for you, Knut. I've never cared much for
second-hand goods myself, there's always something
wrong with them somewhere, and they soon go to
bits."</p>

<p>"You're not far out either. I like them new
myself."</p>

<p>"But I was going to tell you, I'd a rare time of
it here the other day. You've maybe heard about
me gammoning the youngsters down here&mdash;ay, and
others too for that matter, simple folk like Garner, for
instance&mdash;that I could talk Chinese through having
picked up the lingo the five years I was on board the
<i>Albatros</i> in the China Seas?"</p>

<p>And, by way of illustration, Bramsen showed his
eyes round sideways, screwed up his mouth and
uttered the following syllables: "Hi&mdash;ho&mdash;fang&mdash;chu&mdash;ka&mdash;me&mdash;lang&mdash;poh&mdash;poh&mdash;ku!"</p>

<p>Holm laughed till he had to sit down on a barrel.
Bramsen was in his element now; Andrine and the
Salvation Army, Amanda and her tulips, were forgotten.</p>

<p>"Well, the day before yesterday, while I was stacking<a class="pagenum" name="Page_83" id="Page_83" title="[Pg 83]"></a>
fish up in the loft, in comes an old gentleman, sort of
learned and reverend looking he was.</p>

<p>"'Mr. Paal Abrahamsen?' says he, and looks at
me solemn-like through a pair of blue spectacles.</p>

<p>"'That's me, your Highness,' says I, for I judged
he must be something pretty high. Then he puts
down his stick, a mighty fine one with a silver top,
and opens a big book.</p>

<p>"Aha, thinks I to myself, it'll be the census, that's
it. For you know there's been all this business about
taking people's census ever since New Year. Well,
if he wanted my census, I was agreeable, so I started
away polite as could be:</p>

<p>"'Surname and Christian names, married or single,
and so on, that's what you'll be wanting,' says I.</p>

<p>"'No, my friend,' says he, 'I only called to inquire&mdash;you
speak Chinese, I understand. Several years in
the country, were you not?'</p>

<p>"Well, I reckoned he couldn't be a Chinaman himself.
I gave a squint up under his spectacles to see
if his eyes were slantywise, but they were all right.</p>

<p>"'H'm,' says I, 'I know a little, but it's nothing
much. Not worth counting, really.'</p>

<p>"'Don't be afraid, my good man. It was just a
few simple words and phrases in the language I'd very
much like to ask about. My name is'&mdash;well, it was
Professor something or other&mdash;Birk or Cork or Stork
or something&mdash;'from Christiania,' he said.</p>

<p>"'Well,' thinks I to myself, 'it doesn't look as if he
knew much more than I do myself. I may bluff him
yet.' And we squatted down on a barrel apiece, with
an empty sugar-box between us for a table.</p>

<p>"'Mr. Abrahamsen,' says he, 'if you'd kindly<a class="pagenum" name="Page_84" id="Page_84" title="[Pg 84]"></a>
repeat a sentence, anything you like, in Chinese.' And
he takes up a grand gold pencil-case and starts to
write in the book.</p>

<p>"'Aha,' thought I, 'now we're sitting to the hardest
part,' as the miller said when he got to the eighth
commandment. Anyhow, here goes. And I rattles
off, solemn-like: 'Me&mdash;hoh&mdash;puh&mdash;fih&mdash;chu&mdash;lang&mdash;ra&mdash;ta&mdash;ta&mdash;poh&mdash;uh&mdash;ee&mdash;lee&mdash;shung&mdash;la&mdash;uh&mdash;uh&mdash;uh!'
And down it all goes in his book like winking.</p>

<p>"'Very good, very good. And now, what does it
mean?'</p>

<p>"'What it means&mdash;&mdash;' Well, that was a nasty
one, as you can imagine. Funny thing, but I'd never
thought about that. 'Mean&mdash;why&mdash;well, it means&mdash;H'm.
Why, it's as much as to say&mdash;well, it's a sort
of&mdash;sort of national anthem, as you might call it.
<i>Sons of China's Ancient Land.</i> Not quite that exactly,
but something like it, you understand. Chinese is&mdash;well,
it's different, you know.'</p>

<p>"He looked at me pretty sharply under his glasses,
but I stood my ground and never winked a muscle.
And then, bless me if he wasn't mean enough to ask
me to say it all over again.</p>

<p>"Well, I could have stood on my head in the dark
easier than remember what it was I'd said before.
So I puts on an air, superior-like, and says to him:</p>

<p>"'Wait a bit, it's your turn now. Let's see if you
can manage it first.'</p>

<p>"'Well, my good sir, to begin with, <i>Sons of Norway's
Ancient Land</i> is a sort of national anthem if you like,
but I hardly think it's been translated into Chinese.
And in the second place, the word for <em>sons</em> is "Yung-li,"
not "Me-hoh," as you said.'</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_85" id="Page_85" title="[Pg 85]"></a>
"'Beg pardon, Professor, but there's different
dialectrics out there, same as here: some talks northland
and some westland fashion, not to speak of shorthand,
and it's all as different as light and dark.'</p>

<p>"Well, as luck would have it, that set him laughing,
and he shuts up the big book and tucks away the pencil
in his waistcoat pocket. And he thanks me most
politely for the information.</p>

<p>"'You're very welcome, I'm sure,' says I. 'Ah&mdash;dec&mdash;oh&mdash;oh&mdash;shung&mdash;la&mdash;la&mdash;poh!'</p>

<p>"But if we ever get another of that learned sort
along, why, I'm going to tell them Paal Abrahamsen's
dead and gone, poor lad, and can't talk Chinese any
more. I never was much good at these examinations."</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_86" id="Page_86" title="[Pg 86]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII<br />
HOLM &amp; SON</h2>


<p>There was a marked change in the office now.
Every day, when Holm came in, he would
find William seated at his desk, opposite Miss
Betty. Early and late, William was always there,
working away to all appearance like a steam engine.
This in itself was excellent, of course, but, on the other
hand, it destroyed all chance of a comfortable chat
with Betty <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i>. And every day Holm felt
more and more convinced that Betty and he were
made for one another. Or at least that Betty was
made for him.</p>

<p>"You must get the hang of the outside business
too, my son," he observed one day. "Down at the
waterside, for instance, there's a lot needs looking
after there."</p>

<p>"Yes, father," said William respectfully, "but I
want to get thoroughly into the bookkeeping first,
and Miss Rantzau is helping me."</p>

<p>There was nothing to be said to this, of course, but
it was annoying, to say the least. And Holm senior,
thinking matters over in his leisure hours, would say
to himself:</p>

<p>"Knut, my boy, you've been a considerable fool.
You should have sent the youngsters off to Paris<a class="pagenum" name="Page_87" id="Page_87" title="[Pg 87]"></a>
as they wanted, then you could have fixed things
up here in your own fashion while they were
away."</p>

<p>The thought that William might enter the lists
against him as a rival for Betty's favour never occurred
to him, however, until one day when Broker Vindt
came round and found his friend Holm standing
behind the counter in the shop, with William in possession
of the inner office.</p>

<p>Vindt was the generally recognised and accredited
jester of the town; there was nothing he would not
find a way of poking fun at, and even Banker Hermansen
had smilingly to submit to his witticisms.</p>

<p>Vindt was an old bachelor, a dried-up, lanky figure
of a man, with a broad-brimmed felt hat set on his
smooth black wig and a little florid face with a sharp
nose.</p>

<p>"Beg pardon, Holm," he began, "would you mind
asking if the senior partner's disengaged for a
moment?"</p>

<p>"Oh, go to the devil!"</p>

<p>"Well, I was thinking of taking a holiday somewhere&mdash;and
I dare say he'd put me up. Better than
nothing, as the parson said when he found a button
in the offertory box. You might say the same, you
know; be thankful he's keeping you on at all."</p>

<p>"It's a good thing, if you ask me, to see young
people doing something nowadays."</p>

<p>"Ah, my boy, it all depends <em>what</em> they're doing!
Apropos, the other young person in there, is she to
be taken into partnership as well? Deuced pretty
girl that, Holm."</p>

<p>"Vindt, you're incorrigible. Come upstairs and<a class="pagenum" name="Page_88" id="Page_88" title="[Pg 88]"></a>
have a glass of wine. I've got some fine '52
Madeira...."</p>

<p>"Started as early as that, did you? No, thanks
all the same. I think I'll wait till the little Donna
inside there's moved upstairs for good, then perhaps
we may get a look in at the office again some day."</p>

<p>And Vindt strode out of the shop. Crossing the
square, he met Hermansen, who had just come from
the repair shops, where the Spaniard was being overhauled.
The only part of her hull that could be considered
sound consisted of a few plates at the after
end. Wherefore Vindt naturally offered his congratulations,
"All's well that ends well, eh, what?"</p>

<p>The banker swallowed the pill without wincing, and
merely observed:</p>

<p>"Yes, it's an unsatisfactory business, patching up
old wrecks. Apropos, Vindt, how's the gout getting
on? Going anywhere for a cure this summer?"</p>

<p>"Can't afford it, I'm afraid. Bills for repairing
wrecks, you know, are apt to be a bit heavy when
they come in."</p>

<p>Hermansen gave it up after that, but he was considerably
annoyed when he returned to the bank, as
Petersen, the cashier, could see from the way he flung
down his gloves and hat&mdash;it was rarely the banker
showed so much irritation.</p>

<p>Meantime, Holm was thinking over what Vindt had
said. "Wait till the little Donna's moved upstairs
for good...." Now what on earth did he mean by
that? Vindt could not possibly have any idea that
he, Knut Holm, was contemplating marriage. William
and Betty, then? Nonsense&mdash;the idea was preposterous;
it certainly could never have entered his<a class="pagenum" name="Page_89" id="Page_89" title="[Pg 89]"></a>
head, far less Vindt's. Still, it was certainly queer,
the way the boy stuck to the office and never stirred
out....<span class="corr" title='removed: "'></span></p>

<p>In days past it had been impossible to keep him
at the desk for an hour on end; now, he hung over
the books as if he were nailed to the stool.</p>

<p>"Anyhow, we'll make an end of it some way or other.
I'm not going to sit here and be made a fool of."</p>

<p>And Holm went into the inner office. By a rare
chance, William had gone out, and he found Betty
alone.</p>

<p>The girl had her mother's irresistible charm. Not
so handsome, true, but of a gentler type, thought
Holm to himself as he looked at the fresh young face.</p>

<p>And that fair curling hair of hers went splendidly
with the dark eyebrows.</p>

<p>"You're working too hard; you mustn't overdo it,
you know," he said kindly.</p>

<p>"Not the least bit, really; I like it. I've quite
fallen in love with the big ledger here, it's such a nice
comfortable old-fashioned thing."</p>

<p>"So you like old-fashioned things? Perhaps you
would include me in the category of old?"</p>

<p>"You, Mr. Holm! Of course not. Why, you're just
in the prime of life."</p>

<p>"Well, yes, I hope so. But what would you say,
now, if a man&mdash;in the prime of life&mdash;were to say to
you, My dear Miss Betty, will you come and help to
brighten up my home? You're too good to wear
yourself out with working in an office, when you might
be filling a man's life with comfort and content."</p>

<p>Betty got down from her stool and stood looking
at him in astonishment<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span></p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_90" id="Page_90" title="[Pg 90]"></a>
"Really, Mr. Holm, I don't know what you
mean!"</p>

<p>"Oh, I know I'm much older than you, Miss Betty,
but my heart's as young as ever, and I can offer you a
good home and devoted affection, better, perhaps, than
you would find elsewhere."</p>

<p>He placed himself opposite her and endeavoured
to meet her eyes, but she took refuge behind the
ledger, and would not look up.</p>

<p>"I've seen ups and downs in my time, Miss Betty,
and learned a good deal of life; you won't find me
such a poor support to lean on."</p>

<p>"Oh, please, Mr. Holm, please don't say any more.
I&mdash;I must go home now, mama will be waiting...."
She broke off, and began hurriedly and nervously
putting on her things.</p>

<p>Holm put out his hand and held hers a moment or
two, then she ran out, and soon her light, firm step
had passed out of hearing.</p>

<p>Holm was annoyed.</p>

<p>"H'm, you're out of practice, that's what it is.
Getting old. Shouldn't have sprung it on her suddenly
like that. Never flurry a turtle dove; slips out of the
ark if you do, and never comes back. But you don't
see Knut Holm giving up the game for a little thing
like that; no, we must get <a class="corr" name="TC_2" id="TC_2" title="out">our</a> old friend Bianca to
lend a hand. She's sensible enough to know a good
son-in-law when she sees one."</p>

<p>Next morning, when Betty arrived at the office, Holm
went along to call on Mrs. Rantzau; it was to her he
must now look for help.</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau grew very serious when Holm enlightened
her as to his feelings for Betty. She pointed<a class="pagenum" name="Page_91" id="Page_91" title="[Pg 91]"></a>
out at once the great difference in their ages, and was
very doubtful on that head. Nevertheless, she undertook
to speak to Betty herself.</p>

<p>She could not but admit that the offer was a tempting
one and that Betty's future would be assured&mdash;which
to a woman in her position was important
enough. She would in any case give the matter her
most earnest consideration.</p>

<p>Holm took all this to mean that Mrs. Rantzau herself
was not disinclined to approve of the idea, but
that it would take time to get it settled.</p>

<p>He felt more cheerful now, and hoped for victory in
the end. Mrs. Rantzau, he was convinced, would use
her utmost influence with her daughter, though of
course they would think it looked better not to accept
at once!</p>

<p>On returning to the office he fancied Betty was more
than usually friendly, and came to the conclusion
that she had perhaps begun to think more seriously
over the matter.</p>

<p>In order to prepare the children in any case, he
thought it best to take William into his confidence,
without further delay, as to his intention of marrying
again. William was accordingly asked to come upstairs.</p>

<p>When they entered the drawing-room Holm locked
the door, and motioned William to a seat on the sofa
beside him.</p>

<p>"But what on earth are you making all this mystery
about, old man?" said William.</p>

<p>"Old, did you say? You might be thankful, my
boy, if you were as youthful as I am."</p>

<p>"Why, what's the matter now?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_92" id="Page_92" title="[Pg 92]"></a>
"I want to speak to you seriously, my son. For
seventeen years now I have been a lone, lone man...."</p>

<p>"Seventeen years?"</p>

<p>"That's what I said. It's seventeen years now
since Mrs. Gronlund died. But what is time? A
mere trifle. Anyhow, I'm getting tired of this lonely
life."</p>

<p>"Very natural, I'm sure."</p>

<p>"And I have therefore resolved to marry again."</p>

<p>"Have you, though? Good idea."</p>

<p>"Yes; don't you think so? And I have decided
to take a wife who is first of all a good-hearted and
domesticated woman, but at the same time one
who will be able to brighten up the home."</p>

<p>"Excellent! I quite agree. A sound and healthy
man of your type should certainly marry as soon as
opportunity occurs. And I don't mind saying that
the life we two have led here all these years hasn't
exactly been an ideal existence."</p>

<p>"Perhaps not&mdash;though you might have been worse
off. However, now that I am about to bring home
a bride for the third&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And last time?"</p>

<p>"&mdash;I cannot but feel a certain emotion in saying to
you, my son, as I do now: look up to her as a mother,
love her as she deserves, for she is a woman in a
thousand."</p>

<p>"I'm sure, father, you could not have made a
better choice. Mrs. Rantzau is, I believe, an excellent
woman."</p>

<p>"Mrs. Rantzau! What on earth are you talking
about?"</p>

<p>"Why, isn't it her you mean? Both Marie and I<a class="pagenum" name="Page_93" id="Page_93" title="[Pg 93]"></a>
have noticed you've been visiting her pretty often
of late."</p>

<p>"Me&mdash;to marry a woman that age!"</p>

<p>"But she must be much younger than you!"</p>

<p>"Oh&mdash;that's different. Men can marry at any age
and keep on marrying."</p>

<p>"But who is the favoured one, then?"</p>

<p>"The favoured one, as you are pleased to call her,
is Miss Betty&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Betty! <em>You</em> marry Betty Rantzau?"</p>

<p>"Yes; don't you think it's a good idea? Suit us
all round."</p>

<p>"Oh, it's ridiculous, impossible!"</p>

<p>"And why, may I ask?"</p>

<p>"Well, to begin with, Betty won't have you, and,
besides&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Well...?"</p>

<p>"Betty belongs to me!"</p>

<p>Holm jumped up from the sofa, and stood facing
William, who sat quietly and calmly as ever.</p>

<p>"William&mdash;I should never have expected this of you.
H'm, I've borne with a good deal, one way and another,
and had a lot of low-down tricks played on me in my
time, but this...."</p>

<p>"Betty's the only woman I've ever cared for, father;
from the first time I set eyes on her I've...."</p>

<p>"A passing fancy, nothing more. A few weeks'
holiday in Paris, and you'll have forgotten all about
it."</p>

<p>"There you're mistaken. I'm serious for once."</p>

<p>"And I'm serious too. And this time I'm not
going to give in."</p>

<p>Holm turned sharply on his heel and went down to<a class="pagenum" name="Page_94" id="Page_94" title="[Pg 94]"></a>
the office. He had expected to find Betty there, but
she was out. On the desk lay a note, in her writing,
asking to be excused for leaving the office; she was not
feeling well, and had gone home.</p>

<p>He strode up and down in great agitation. Knut
Holm was thoroughly angry now.</p>

<p>His own son as a rival! Was there ever such a
ridiculous state of things? If Vindt got any inkling
of the situation, there would be no end to the gossip
he would make of it&mdash;it would be impossible to remain
in the place.</p>

<p>Give way at once, and submit? No, that was not
Knut Holm's way. And indeed, the very thought
made him feel miserable at heart, for he had grown
really fond of Betty.</p>

<p>Well, let her choose for herself, that was the best
way. She and her mother could work it out together,
and see which looked most like business.</p>

<p>He went down to the waterside to hunt up Bramsen;
in times of real difficulty, when he felt uncertain how
to act, it was always helpful to spend an hour listening
to Bramsen's honest and genial talk.</p>

<p>Up in the loft he found Bramsen, lying at his ease
on a couple of coffee-bags, studying a telegram.</p>

<p>"Hullo, Bramsen, what are you up to now?"</p>

<p>Bramsen half rose, and sat holding one hand to his
forehead, waving the telegram in the other.</p>

<p>"Well, if this isn't the queerest...."</p>

<p>"There's a deal of queer things about just lately.
What's happening now?"</p>

<p>"Why, you know I told you how I'd got all that
worldly out of Andrine, when she joined the Salvation
Army?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_95" id="Page_95" title="[Pg 95]"></a>
"Well, has she come to her senses again?"</p>

<p>"Getting on that way, anyhow. It was just as I
thought. When she got up this morning she began
sort of throwing out hints that I'd better let her have
the bank-book again after all."</p>

<p>"Aha, that looks like coming round."</p>

<p>"Well, you can guess I'd been expecting something
of the sort, and so I started in a little speculation while
there was time."</p>

<p>"Not trying steamboats, I hope?"</p>

<p>"No, no. But I got wind of a good thing in another
way altogether. You know Johnsen I told you
about?"</p>

<p>"Bramsen, don't tell me you've got mixed up in
any sort of deal with that drunken old fool?"</p>

<p>"Drunk? He's as right as can be now. Turned
teetotal, and made some money too. Any amount.
Well, last week he came along to me and said he and
Baron Olsen had gone shares and bought up a boat
that was lying at Strandvik&mdash;<i>Erik</i> was the name.
They'd got her dirt cheap, but they'd let me come in
for a third share, and be managing owner, with Johnsen
as skipper. Well, I agreed. The <i>Erik</i> went off last
week, and now here comes a telegram from some place
called Havre; but it's a queer sort of message. I can't
make head or tail of it myself. Here, see what it says:
'Drink dock yesterday.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Johnsen</span>.' Drunk in dock,
if you ask me&mdash;and him a teetot'lar and all!"</p>

<p>Holm took the telegram and read it over, but could
make nothing of it. "Drink dock yesterday" was all
it said.</p>

<p>"Well, it's something to do with drink, anyway,
by the look of it&mdash;whether he means he got drunk in<a class="pagenum" name="Page_96" id="Page_96" title="[Pg 96]"></a>
dock, or drank the dock dry to be out of temptation,
he's probably got delirium tremens by this time, and
drunk the ship as well."</p>

<p>"Holm&mdash;you don't think he's gone off the rails
again&mdash;honestly?" Bramsen jumped up from his
couch and stood aghast.</p>

<p>"Well, whatever did you want to be such a fool
for, Bramsen? Managing owner indeed&mdash;why, you've
no more idea of managing than those coffee-bags."</p>

<p>"Ho, haven't I? And me been round the Horn
and Cape of Good Hope as well, and nearly eaten by
crocodiles in Bahia, dead of yellow fever, and all but
burned in Rio, an ear with frostbite in the Arctic,
been shooting monkeys in Mozambique."</p>

<p>"Monkey yourself, if you ask me."</p>

<p>"That may be; but, anyhow, you can't say I don't
know anything about shipping. Your smart shipowners
sitting all day in their offices and looking out
places on the map, you suppose they know more about
it than me that's been thirty years navigating on my
own all over the torrential globe. I'm not good enough
to manage a bit of a ship myself, eh? I'm a plain
man, I know, but I'm no fool for all that, and I don't
see what call you've got to go throwing wet blankets
on all my deals and doings anyhow."</p>

<p>Bramsen was thoroughly offended now, and Holm
found it difficult to bring him round.</p>

<p>"It's not that, Bramsen; you know I don't mean
it that way. But I do think it's foolish of you to
entrust your property to an irresponsible fellow like
Johnsen."</p>

<p>"Well, what's a man to do when everything's going
by the board all round? Ay, it's other little matters
that's the trouble as well. I don't mind telling you,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_97" id="Page_97" title="[Pg 97]"></a>
Knut, but, flay and fester me, you must swear you
won't say a word to a soul."</p>

<p>"You know I can keep a secret, Bramsen."</p>

<p>"Well, it's this way. Armanda's only just been
confirmed, and, would you believe it, if the girl hasn't
gone and got engaged already, with Johnsen's son;
Carljohan's his name, and a devilish smart lad too.
I know he failed for his mate's certificate this year,
but after all that doesn't go for much, for he can walk
on his hands as easy as his feet, and he's as nimble as
a squirrel up aloft."</p>

<p>"But have you given your consent?"</p>

<p>"Consent?" Bramsen stared in astonishment.
"Consent? They never asked for it, and I never
asked myself&mdash;how should I? I'd never have done
anything but ask for consent all the times I was engaged,
and then, what about you? Have you asked anyone's
consent?"</p>

<p>"No, but...."</p>

<p>"Well, there you are! Anyhow, we had a sort of
celebration party up at home one evening when Andrine
was gone to meeting. Take my word for it, but old
Johnsen was a bit sore that night; and wishing he'd
never gone in for teetotalling! But the rest of us had
a fine uproarious time of it, and I tried my hand with
young Carljohan at one or two little wrestling tricks.
Aha, he's a good one, but he'll need to learn a bit more
before he can get over me. There's a dodge or two I
learned from a Mulatto on the coast of Brazil many
years ago...."</p>

<p>"But what's all this got to do with the boat?"</p>

<p>"Why, you see, Armanda says Carljohan must get
a berth as skipper, so we must use the chance, while
her mother's all Salvationing, to get hold of a share<a class="pagenum" name="Page_98" id="Page_98" title="[Pg 98]"></a>
in a vessel, put in old Johnsen as skipper at first,
and let the youngster take it on after.... See?"</p>

<p>"Oho! Women again, Bramsen, what?"</p>

<p>"Ay, they do us every time, and that's the truth.
But we can't get on without them all the same. Like
pepper in the soup&mdash;gets you in the throat now and
again, but it gives you an appetite."</p>

<p>Bramsen had by now almost forgotten the telegram;
he grew serious again, however, as it caught his eye.</p>

<p>"'Drink dock yesterday&mdash;drink dock....'" he
scratched his whiskers and muttered curses at Johnsen
and his telegram.</p>

<p>Holm sat looking at the thing.</p>

<p>"Bramsen," he said at last, "I've got it. Don't
you see what it is?"</p>

<p>"No, I'm blest if I do."</p>

<p>"It's come through a bit wrong, that's all, mutilated
in transit. '<i>Erik</i>' it ought to be. '<i>Erik</i> dock yesterday'&mdash;that
is&mdash;he's got there all right and docked
yesterday."</p>

<p>Bramsen turned a somersault over the coffee-bags,
slapped his thighs and stood doubled up with laughter.</p>

<p>"Well, to be sure! A nice lot they telegraph
people must be over there! And I was certain sure
he'd gone on the drink and sold us all up this time&mdash;ha,
ha, ha!"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>While Holm and Bramsen were thus consoling each
other down at the quay, Mrs. Rantzau and Betty
were sitting quietly in the little parlour now that the
pupils had gone.</p>

<p>Betty was crying, with her arms round her mother's
neck, while her mother pressed the girl closely to her,
patting her hair tenderly.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_99" id="Page_99" title="[Pg 99]"></a>
"Don't cry, Betty, my child; you know we've
always had each other, good times and bad. Ah,
my dear, it's a sad childhood you had, but I could do
no more. You must do as your heart tells you, my
child."</p>

<p>"Oh, mother, and we were so happy together, and
everything going so well."</p>

<p>"We'll manage somehow, Betty dear; you've
never known me give up yet, have you, child?"</p>

<p>"No&mdash;but it's so cruel to think of you having to
work and slave all the time&mdash;and we might have lived
in luxury the two of us&mdash;but I can't, mother, I can't."</p>

<p>"Never think of it, Betty dear; I am well and
strong, and we'll get along all right. And if you don't
care to stay on at the office there after what's happened,
why, there must be other places you could get."</p>

<p>"Yes, I know&mdash;but it was so nice there, and I was
just getting into things so well. And&mdash;and&mdash;Mr.
William was so nice and kind."</p>

<p>She fell to crying once more, but Mrs. Rantzau sat
up sharply.</p>

<p>"William&mdash;was he nice to you, you say?"</p>

<p>"Yes, so kind and friendly, and he told me about
things&mdash;&mdash; Oh, he's a good man, I know."</p>

<p>"Told you about what things, Betty?"</p>

<p>"About his life, and how he'd wanted to be an
artist, and was studying for it and all that&mdash;but then
he thought it was his duty to help his old father with
the business."</p>

<p>Betty grew calmer after a while, and told her mother
a great deal of what had passed between Holm and
herself, and what William had said.</p>

<p>Emilie Rantzau lay awake till late that night
thinking over what Betty had said. It was difficult<a class="pagenum" name="Page_100" id="Page_100" title="[Pg 100]"></a>
to get a clear idea of the situation, for the various
scenes seemed contradictory. Had William honourable
intentions regarding Betty?&mdash;that was the main thing.</p>

<p>But she had met with so many disappointments in
life, that it almost seemed as if Fate were purposely
deluding her with visions that were never to be realised.
Again and again she had seen the future opening
before her in happiness and prosperity, only to find the
prospect vanish like a mirage, leaving her alone as
before in the desert of life.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_101" id="Page_101" title="[Pg 101]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII<br />
MALLA TRAP</h2>


<p>Forty years earlier the corner premises occupied
by the firm of Knut G. Holm had belonged to
Melchior Trap, who had his business there.
Melchior Trap was one of the great traders of the
place in his day, and a man looked up to by all.</p>

<p>He was supposed to have made a fortune in the
Crimean War, but lost most of it later, though enough
remained for him to leave his daughter and only child,
Malla Trap, a comfortable income after his death.</p>

<p>Knut Holm, as a lad of fifteen, had entered the
service of Melchior Trap, starting in the shop, and
gradually working his way up, until, when the old
man died, he was able to take over the business
himself.</p>

<p>Malla Trap was then a friend of old standing; some,
indeed, of the older generation declared that Holm
in his young days had been in love with his master's
daughter, but that the old patrician would not hear
of the match.</p>

<p>However this might be, Malla Trap was a regular
visitor at the Holms', and as far back as the children
could remember, Aunt Trap had always come round
to dinner every Sunday, where a special place was
laid for her at table.</p>

<p>She was now about sixty, tall, thin, and with greyish<a class="pagenum" name="Page_102" id="Page_102" title="[Pg 102]"></a>
hair that hung in two heavy curls on either side of
her forehead.</p>

<p>But Malla Trap was no ordinary old maid with
black crochet mittens and knitting-needle, sitting
roasting apples over a stove in an over-heated
room.</p>

<p>No; on a fine winter's day, with clean, smooth ice
across the fjord, one might see Malla Trap's slender
figure skimming along on skates as gaily as any girl
of seventeen.</p>

<p>She had a splendid constitution and physique&mdash;weakness
was a thing unknown to her. And she had
carefully hardened herself from youth up, for she had
a dread of becoming old and invalid.</p>

<p>As an instance of her prowess of endurance it was
stated as a reliable fact that she had set out one
bitterly cold morning to skate across the fjord, and,
falling through a patch of thin ice a couple of miles
out, had not only managed to extricate herself, but
instead of making at once for home, continued on her
way to Strandvik. There, arriving at the house of
her old friend Prois, she declared she was frozen so
stiff that anyone might have broken her across the
middle like a sugar-stick.</p>

<p>A slight cold was the sole effect of her bath, which
otherwise seemed to have been merely refreshing!</p>

<p>She had always had leisure and means to arrange her
mode of life as she pleased, and had made the most
of her opportunities in that direction. Her whole
existence was conducted in a casual, easy-going fashion,
not tied down to habit, rule and order.</p>

<p>Her idea of charity, and manner of exercising the
same, were no less eccentric.</p>

<p>One Christmas, for instance, she had presented each<a class="pagenum" name="Page_103" id="Page_103" title="[Pg 103]"></a>
of the old derelicts at the Seamen's Home with a pair
of ski, declaring that with a little practice they would
soon learn to use them, and that the exercise would
give them a new lease of life. The poor old gouty
invalids were hard put to it to hobble along on their
feet with the aid of sticks, and had certainly never
dreamed of running about on ski.</p>

<p>When Pastor Arff, who was extremely stout, complained
of heartburn, she gave him a skiff, with oars
complete, on the express condition that he should get
up at six every morning and row a couple of miles up
and down the river.</p>

<p>"I assure you, my dear Pastor, you'll feel as lively
as a fish if you do!"</p>

<p>She would go to meetings in the afternoon, and sit
among the earnest sisterhood, taking an interested
part in discussions as to mission work among the
heathen, and then go on in the evening to see the
latest and riskiest pieces at the theatre, which she
thoroughly enjoyed. It was a known fact that she
had tried to enliven the work of the local soup-kitchen
by introducing raisins as an ingredient in the pea-soup,
but the old ladies on the committee had put
their foot down&mdash;that was going too far. Malla Trap
urged them to try it&mdash;it was delicious, she declared&mdash;but
without avail.</p>

<p>The townsfolk were so used to her eccentricities that
no one ever took much notice of them, for all knew
she was a thoroughly good soul, who in her unobtrusive
way had brought happiness to many a home in
distress. It was not always by direct gifts that she
effected this; her confident and encouraging manner
gave new hope and strength to many who were sinking
under the burden of their struggle. Her tall, erect<a class="pagenum" name="Page_104" id="Page_104" title="[Pg 104]"></a>
figure came like a breath of the fresh north-west wind,
sweeping clouds from the sky.</p>

<p>Not many knew that it was Malla Trap who had
given Bertelsen the idea of starting a paper shop
when the firm in which he was cashier failed, and he
found himself thrown out, with a wife and children
to look after, and no means of support.</p>

<p>The scene would probably have been something like
this:</p>

<p>"Now, my dear man, it's no good giving up like
that."</p>

<p>"But what am I to do?&mdash;there's nowhere to turn&mdash;only
the workhouse. That's what it'll be&mdash;the workhouse."</p>

<p>"Nonsense, Bertelsen! pull yourself together, do.
Look here! I've an idea. There's that shop in the
square, next to Holm; it's vacant, and you could get
it cheap. Start a little business there with paper,
cardboard, wall-papers and that sort of thing. It'll
be a success&mdash;it <em>must</em>!"</p>

<p>He looked up a little&mdash;paper&mdash;business&mdash;his thoughts
took a definite direction. Hope began to dawn, and
Malla Trap had accomplished a piece of the finest
missionary work a human soul ever can&mdash;she had
made a sunny thought to grow in a tortured and
despairing mind.</p>

<p>Her best friend was Miss Strom, a woman of considerable
wit and education, and daughter of the late
governor of the province.</p>

<p>When the pair of them were together, Beate Strom
would lecture at length, pointing out to Malla Trap
the necessity of paying some regard to public opinion;
it really would not do to go on acting in that independent
fashion.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_105" id="Page_105" title="[Pg 105]"></a>
"It's no good, my dear," Malla Trap would say.
"If I can't do things my own way, which is at least
honest and decent enough, why, I might as well give
up altogether."</p>

<p>"Not at all," said Beate Strom earnestly; "one
must consider what people say."</p>

<p>"Nonsense, Beate! You're far too well brought up,
my dear, that's the trouble."</p>

<p>And when Malla Trap gave a supper-party, with
lobster mayonnaise and black pudding, Beate Strom
gave her up as hopeless. There was a limit, she
declared, to the extent to which innovations should
be permitted.</p>

<p>But Malla Trap simply pleaded that they were her
favourite dishes&mdash;and why shouldn't she? Was she
to sit and eat plain bread and cheese when she felt
like lobster mayonnaise and could get it? No, thank
you!</p>

<p>As already mentioned, Miss Trap was a regular
visitor at Holm's, and had her own place at table.</p>

<p>The children were fond of her, and she of them.
Whenever anything went wrong, or they were in
trouble, both William and Marie would go to Aunt
Trap for advice.</p>

<p>After his last conversation with his father, William
was at a loss what to make of the affair. It was
natural, therefore, he should confide in Aunt Trap.</p>

<p>He told her that he could not be certain himself as
to the state of Betty's feelings towards him, but was
almost sure she was favourably inclined at least.</p>

<p>Malla Trap asked him earnestly if it were not after
all only a passing fancy on his part; she was very
sceptical as to the nature of men's tender feelings.</p>

<p>William, of course, declared emphatically that it<a class="pagenum" name="Page_106" id="Page_106" title="[Pg 106]"></a>
was true and enduring love, and that he would be
blighted for ever if he could not make Betty his
wife.</p>

<p>At last Malla Trap believed him, and promised to
do what she could to put matters right.</p>

<p>She decided first of all to go and talk to Mrs. Rantzau,
with whom she had some slight acquaintance; but on
the way she encountered Mrs. Rantzau herself walking
with Hermansen, and from the manner in which the
pair appeared absorbed in each other's society, Malla
Trap judged it best to postpone the call for the present.
Immediately after, Vindt, her cousin, came strolling
along, and stopped to speak.</p>

<p>"Well, Mrs. Mallaprop, how's things with you?"</p>

<p>"Very well, thanks, rude boy."</p>

<p>Vindt stood a moment pointing with his stick to
the pair that had just passed<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span></p>

<p>"What do you say to that, my lanky cousin&mdash;pretty
bit of goods the banker's got hold of there. Who is
she?"</p>

<p>"Mrs. Rantzau, the music teacher."</p>

<p>"Oho! So that's the lady, is it! Well, I must
say, she looks quite smart."</p>

<p>"When are you coming to see me?"</p>

<p>"My dear child, think of your reputation! What
would the world say if I were to go visiting a love-lorn
female without a chaperon in the world?"</p>

<p>"Don't talk nonsense. Come home and have
dinner. I've a nice piece of fish."</p>

<p>"And apple sauce, what? No, thank you; I was
ill for a fortnight last time I sampled your new-fangled
menus. But I mustn't take up your valuable time.
<i lang="it">Addio, cara mia!</i>"</p>

<p>And Vindt strode off, in time to see Hermansen and<a class="pagenum" name="Page_107" id="Page_107" title="[Pg 107]"></a>
Mrs. Rantzau disappear round the corner. He began
to wonder what it could mean.</p>

<p>Banker Hermansen running off in business hours
with a lady all dressed up&mdash;this was something altogether
unprecedented, and enough to set others beside
Vindt agape. Hermansen, a man devoid of all tender
feeling, whose heart was popularly supposed to be
made of rhinoceros hide&mdash;surely he could not be going
that way like any other mortal?</p>

<p>Vindt was so occupied with the phenomenon that he
walked full tilt into Listad and the schoolmaster, the
former of whom buttonholed at once and began delivering
a long harangue about the new Ministry and
the political situation.</p>

<p>"... Such a state of things, my dear sir, is more
than gloomy; it is desperate. And the <i lang="la">fons et origo</i>
of the whole trouble lies in the fact that...."</p>

<p>"That there's too many amateurs poking their
fingers into the business as it is, and an ungodly mess
they're making of it, instead of sticking to their
work and doing something useful."</p>

<p>Listad thought he had never met a ruder fellow than
this unceremonious broker; never encountered a citizen
with a more callous disregard to higher political aims,
and the needs of the country.</p>

<p>"But what&mdash;what is to become of a nation if its
individual units allow themselves to be swallowed up
in mere material strivings, deaf to the call of lofty
ideals, blind to the moral welfare of the land, and
of humanity at large? I ask you, how will such a
people fare?"</p>

<p>"First-rate, if you ask me," said Vindt, and walked
off.</p>

<p>Meantime Malla Trap had come to the conclusion<a class="pagenum" name="Page_108" id="Page_108" title="[Pg 108]"></a>
that she might as well take up the business in hand
with Holm himself at once; it would have to be done
sooner or later.</p>

<p>She went up to the drawing-room, and told the maid
to go down and ask if Mr. Holm could spare a few
minutes.</p>

<p>Holm was somewhat surprised at the message;
Malla Trap did not often come round like this of her
own accord in the middle of the week.</p>

<p>"Well, my dear Miss Trap, is there anything special
the matter since we have the pleasure of seeing you
to-day? Or were you feeling lonely, perhaps?"</p>

<p>"Lonely enough I am at times, Knut Holm."</p>

<p>"Why, yes, I suppose&mdash;when one is all by oneself&mdash;er&mdash;one
feels that way now and then. I know myself
I often feel the want of company, someone to confide
in&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Ah, but you've memories, Knut Holm, happy
memories."</p>

<p>"That's true&mdash;but even then&mdash;it's apt to be dull
all the same in the long-run, with nothing but
memories."</p>

<p>"I hear you are thinking of marrying again."</p>

<p>"And who's been kind enough to tell you that?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I had it from a reliable source. But honestly,
Knut Holm, I think you will do well to reflect before
you do."</p>

<p>"I've put in quite enough reflection over it already,
my dear Malla Trap, worked it out all round. I know
it means a lot of extra expense and bother, with new
arrangements and all that, but seeing I can't reasonably
expect to live more than another twenty years
or so, I fancy there'll be enough to manage it."</p>

<p>"So that's what you call working it out, is it?<a class="pagenum" name="Page_109" id="Page_109" title="[Pg 109]"></a>
Working out sums of money! I thought you were a
man of loftier ideals than that."</p>

<p>"I was, in my younger days, Malla Trap. Do you
remember the time when we two were fond of each
other?"</p>

<p>"I don't think I've forgotten it."</p>

<p>"We were as good as engaged, weren't we?"</p>

<p>"I had your promise, Knut Holm, and I trusted
you. I waited and waited, but you never came."</p>

<p>"Yes, it was a pity, I know. But, you see, your
father was so furious when he heard about it, and
treated me in such a manner, that I simply couldn't
put up with it. And then, afterwards, there were
those affairs with Maggie and Mrs. Gronlund&mdash;but
I'm sure I don't know what we want to go dragging
up all that for. We've got along quietly and comfortably
now together these many years; let bygones
be bygones, say I."</p>

<p>"Oh, I've forgiven you everything long ago. But
I haven't forgotten, and I've my own reasons for reminding
you of it all to-day for the first and last time.
So go on."</p>

<p>Holm walked up and down restlessly, wondering
what Malla Trap could have in mind. It did not occur
to him for the moment that she might be acting on
William's behalf, or he might have been less frank.
As it was, he went on with a touch of forced gaiety:</p>

<p>"Well, well, my dear Malla Trap, if you must have
the old story set out in detail, don't mind me. I'll
tell you all about it. I had to marry Maggie, you see;
as a gentleman I could do nothing else. And as for
Mrs. Gronlund, why, seeing she wouldn't give up the
boy, I had to take her as well. Altogether, you see,
it's been the boy's fault all along. If it hadn't been<a class="pagenum" name="Page_110" id="Page_110" title="[Pg 110]"></a>
for him, you and I might have fixed things up after
all."</p>

<p>"Best as it was, I dare say. But I ask you now,
for the sake of our old friendship, do not make another
woman unhappy."</p>

<p>"But, my dear soul, Maggie and Mrs. Gronlund
were as happy as could be. I really think I've a sort
of gift for making women happy, when I love them."</p>

<p>"Ha, ha! Excuse my laughing, but really, Knut
Holm, I can't help it. You loved me once, or so you
said, at least."</p>

<p>"Oh, we were only children then."</p>

<p>"But I can't say you ever made me happy in that
way."</p>

<p>"I assure you, Malla Trap, I've been more sorry
than you know about that business."</p>

<p>"Oh, I don't think you ever troubled much to
think what a forsaken woman feels, what misery it
means to her."</p>

<p>"Well, honestly, I don't find it easy to put myself
in her place, as it were&mdash;no, I can't say&mdash;&mdash; It must
be very unpleasant, of course.... H'm. But you
seem to have got along pretty comfortably all the
same, as far as one can see."</p>

<p>"As far as one can see, yes." Her voice was
earnest now. "Has it never occurred to you to think
why Malla Trap grew into the eccentric, half-foolish
creature people turn to smile at now? Do you know
what it means to lose one's whole objective in life?
Ah, no, you wouldn't understand; no one else, perhaps,
could understand how a woman's life can be made
empty, aimless, a mere chaos of existence&mdash;though,
Heaven be thanked, there have been little rays of sun-light
here and there. And when the whole poor<a class="pagenum" name="Page_111" id="Page_111" title="[Pg 111]"></a>
comedy is ended, why, I hope there may be some
few that will spare a kindly thought for Malla Trap."</p>

<p>"If I knew how I could help you, Malla Trap, I'd
do it gladly. But, honestly, I can't see what you're
driving at just now."</p>

<p>"I want your son to be happy, that's all."</p>

<p>"Oh&mdash;so that's where the trouble lies, is it? Very
sensible of him, I'm sure, to get you on his side, but
if you'll excuse my saying so, Malla Trap, you'd better
leave things alone."</p>

<p>He strode up and down, and the casual, easy-going
air he had assumed gave way to a more serious expression.
At last he stopped, and stood facing her.</p>

<p>"There are critical moments in every man's life,"
he began, "and, and&mdash;I reckon I've had my share.
I've been on the verge of bankruptcy...."</p>

<p>"In 1875, yes."</p>

<p>"Why&mdash;how did you know?"</p>

<p>"Oh, I knew how matters stood then, well enough."</p>

<p>"There wasn't a soul that knew it except C. Henrik
Pettersen."</p>

<p>"You think so, do you?"</p>

<p>"There was Hermansen at the bank, he had some
idea, I dare say, but nobody else."</p>

<p>"I knew.<span class="corr" title='added: "'>"</span> She drew off her gloves and smoothed
them out on the table. Holm stood still, looking
earnestly at her.</p>

<p>"Was it&mdash;was it you, then, that sent me the hundred
and fifty pounds?"</p>

<p>"You've guessed it at last, then? Yes, it was I.
I knew you were in desperate straits, that you would
be ruined if you did not get help from somewhere."</p>

<p>"After I'd treated you so badly?"</p>

<p>"A woman's heart's a strange thing."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_112" id="Page_112" title="[Pg 112]"></a>
"But why did you never tell me before to-day?"</p>

<p>"I should never have told you at all, if it hadn't
been for William's sake. I'm proud of the boy; he's
been good to me, and a homeless old woman's grateful
for a little kindness. Well, now you know it&mdash;and
now I ask you again to give up Betty Rantzau;
there'll be nothing but trouble come of it, if you go
on. And they're fond of each other, I may as well
tell you that at once."</p>

<p>"That boy&mdash;that boy! It's as I said before; he's
been the trouble all along."</p>

<p>"This time, at least, it's for your own good."</p>

<p>"That remains to be seen. But I can't get over
that business of the hundred and fifty pounds."</p>

<p>"Say no more about it, Knut Holm."</p>

<p>"And that artful old rascal of a Pettersen; to
think I should have wasted a wreath on his grave
every blessed year since he died. Eleven wreaths at
four shillings a time&mdash;true, I left out the ribbon last
time, that was so much saved. But he shouldn't
have had a single flower out of me, if I'd known."</p>

<p>"Then it's agreed that you let William marry
Betty?</p>

<p>"I never said anything of the sort. But the
hundred and fifty&mdash;my head's all going round. How
am I to pay you back again? Really, I'm sorry&mdash;you
must excuse me...."</p>

<p>And he strode out of the room. Miss Trap sat
smoothing out her gloves on the table. Thinking
matters over, she came to the conclusion that Holm
would give in, but the way did not seem quite clear
as yet.</p>

<p>A little later William looked in.</p>

<p>"Has he gone?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_113" id="Page_113" title="[Pg 113]"></a>
"Just this minute."</p>

<p>"What did he say? Did you manage it, Auntie
Trap?"</p>

<p>"He's obstinate, my boy, but I think we shall get
him round all right. Your father only wanted to try
you, William. He's a strange man, is Knut Holm."</p>

<p>"Do you think that was all it was?"</p>

<p>"Yes, I should say so. He could hardly find a
better way of making you serious about it, than by
playing the part of a rival."</p>

<p>"Oh, we must have Betty up&mdash;we've settled it all
between us, now." And before Miss Trap could say
a word, he was gone. Two minutes later he came
back, leading Betty by the hand.</p>

<p>"This is Auntie Trap&mdash;yes, you must call her
Auntie now, for it's she that's managed it all. Though
it was really only a sort of trial father got up, so
Auntie says&mdash;he's a wonder, the old man, what?"</p>

<p>"May I call you Auntie as well, Miss Trap? I've
never had an aunt myself, and it's nice. Mother
and I have always been alone."</p>

<p>"I know, my child. Call me Auntie by all means,
and God bless you both. It's all to be for the best.
I'm sure father was only wanting to try you. I know
Knut Holm of old; he's his own queer ideas at times,
but his heart's in the right place."</p>

<p>And she put her arm round Betty's neck and kissed
her.</p>

<p>"Lovely it must be for you two young people on the
threshold of the promised land. But remember, as
you look towards it, that it only comes once in a lifetime&mdash;just
this one moment, when the mists have
cleared away, and the future is bright before you. I
wish you happiness, children."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_114" id="Page_114" title="[Pg 114]"></a>
She walked out, erect as ever, but with her wise eyes,
as it were, veiled. William and Betty watched her a
little way up the street.</p>

<p>They stood hand in hand by the window, looking
out over the river; Betty laid her head on his
shoulder. Never before had the river and the hillside
seemed so beautiful as to-day.</p>

<p>There came into Betty's mind the memories of her
childhood, like dark shadows gliding by. The high-walled
courtyard in Hamburg and the rooms in a narrow
street in Copenhagen stood out clearest of all. She
shivered a little, and put her arms round her lover's
neck.</p>

<p>"Come, William, let us go and tell mother. She
will be so happy."</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_115" id="Page_115" title="[Pg 115]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX<br />
CLAPHAM JUNCTION</h2>


<p>Everyone knows the great railway station
at Clapham Junction just outside London,
where so many lines meet and cross, and
where trains start for so many different parts.</p>

<p>Our little town, too, had its junction of ways just
outside, where the high road branches out into three,
each in a different direction. It was the accepted
meeting-place for all secretly engaged couples, being
a convenient spot that could be reached, accidentally
as it were, by two people happening to come along by
different routes.</p>

<p>It was Vindt, the humorist, who had christened it
Clapham Junction, and he was the first to ferret out
the fact that Banker Hermansen and Mrs. Rantzau
had been walking together along the road by the shore
several mornings in succession.</p>

<p>Vindt went round to the bank on some pretext of
business, but really to see if the banker was in a softer
mood than usual. After all, the man was no more than
human!</p>

<p>But no; there he stood behind the counter, stiff
and coldly polite as ever. Nice sort of man for a lover,
thought Vindt.</p>

<p>What could the banker and Mrs. Rantzau have in
common?</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_116" id="Page_116" title="[Pg 116]"></a>
It was not easy to imagine. Some said he was
fascinated by her voice, others laid the blame on her
black eyes; the fact remained that the pair were more
and more frequently together. Vindt had not been
down to Holm's for a long time now; he hated the
sight of women in business, and that Holm should
have been one of the first to introduce a petticoat within
the private sanctum among good cigars and vintage
port&mdash;it was unpardonable. In the present state
of things, however, he felt desperately in need of
someone to talk to. This affair of Hermansen's was
so unparalleled a marvel that he simply must open his
mind to someone about it.</p>

<p>He thrust his head in at the doorway, and discovered
Holm standing behind the counter.</p>

<p>"All alone, old stick-in-the-mud?"</p>

<p>"Not a soul in the place. Come in. Haven't seen
you for ages."</p>

<p>"You've been otherwise engaged. Fair charmer
inside there now?" He pointed inquiringly towards
the office.</p>

<p>"No, I'm all alone. Come inside, and have a glass
of '48 port."</p>

<p>Vindt carefully laid down his heavy, ivory-handled
cane, hung his coat and neck wrap over a chair,
and stood with his hands in his pockets, facing
him.</p>

<p>"Well, and what's the trouble now?" said Holm,
struggling with a refractory cork.</p>

<p>"Holm, what do you say: could you imagine me
in love?"</p>

<p>"No."</p>

<p>"Well, could you imagine old Hermansen on his
knees whispering tender nothings to a woman?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_117" id="Page_117" title="[Pg 117]"></a>
"What on earth...? Look here. Where have
you been to lunch to-day?"</p>

<p>"I haven't been anywhere to lunch. But I'll tell
you where I have been: I've been out to Clapham
Junction, and seen our banker friend and the Sea
Lady...."</p>

<p>"And who?"</p>

<p>"High C Lady; nightingale; your little Donna's
mother&mdash;Rantzau, isn't it?"</p>

<p>"Hermansen and Mrs. Rantzau?" Holm looked
at him earnestly.</p>

<p>"Aha, had an eye on her yourself, what? Well,
you've had some experience of widows, so you're not
a new hand at the business."</p>

<p>"What's all this nonsense you've got hold of to-day,
Vindt?"</p>

<p>"Why, I'm sorry to crush the budding flower of
love within your heart, but so it is. You've always
come off second-best with Hermansen&mdash;and now he's
snapped up Mrs. Rantzau under your nose. A
marriage has been arranged&mdash;etc. etc."</p>

<p>Holm's face was flushed&mdash;no doubt with his efforts
to open the bottle.</p>

<p>"Come along!" said Vindt. "What about that
little drink? I'm sure I want something to console
me."</p>

<p>Holm could not get the cork out. He sat down,
and was unusually silent.</p>

<p>Vindt began to feel conscience-stricken. Surely
Holm had not been in earnest, then?<span class="corr" title='removed: "'></span></p>

<p>"Holm! You don't mean to say you're&mdash;you're...."</p>

<p>"Hurt, you mean? No, no, my boy&mdash;but I've
been had all the same.... Well, never mind.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_118" id="Page_118" title="[Pg 118]"></a>
What with the Spaniard, and now the widow, I
should say he'd soon find he'd got his 'hands
full.'"</p>

<p>"Well, here's to the happy pair!"</p>

<p>"Oh, by all means. But can you tell me, Vindt,
how he managed it? I'd give five bob to have heard
him in the act. Hermansen proposing...."</p>

<p>"Oh, that's easy enough. This is the style." Vindt
buttoned up his coat, put his stick under his arm and
held his hands behind his back.</p>

<p>"Honoured Madam, allow me to draw upon your
indulgence to the extent of craving your protection.
I am not altogether a worthless document, have never
before been discounted for anyone's account, but have
lain untouched as a sole bill of exchange in my portfolio.
Having ascertained that you had established
yourself here, I ventured, honoured Madam, to apply
to you, with a view to learn how far you might be
disposed to open a joint account, free of all commission,
to our mutual advantage."</p>

<p>"Bravo, Vindt! I'll take my oath it's the first time
in his life he's ever done anything free of all commission&mdash;poor
devil, I declare I'm almost sorry for
him myself."</p>

<p>They talked over the affair of the engagement for
some time, and Holm grew so thoroughly cheerful
after a while that Vindt was convinced his heart was
not involved.</p>

<p>"Holm, will you do me a favour?" Vindt judged
that Holm was now in the best of tempers, and proposed
to utilise the opportunity. He was anxious to
lay hands on a couple of hundred pounds. It was
worth trying at any rate.</p>

<p>"Well, what is it?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_119" id="Page_119" title="[Pg 119]"></a>
"Give me your signature on the back of a piece of
paper, that's all. A couple of hundred."</p>

<p>"My dear Vindt, I should be sorry to lose an old
friend like you."</p>

<p>"Lose an old friend?"</p>

<p>"Why, yes. You see, I've had some experience of
backing bills. Take a couple of instances out of many.
You remember young Lieberg? Smart, well-got-up
young fellow, with a taste for the good things of life,
but a trifle thin in the wearing parts. I backed a
bill for him, and we were first-rate friends. At the
first renewal I had to remind him, with all respect, of
the paper's existence, and he was mortally offended&mdash;although
I offered to lend him interest and payment.
And in the end I had to pay up myself. Well, I
thought after that he'd look on me as his best friend.
Whereas now, when I meet him in the street, he cuts
me dead. That's what you get for it!</p>

<p>"Then there was Kautz, the shipowner. He went
bankrupt, as you know, and let me in for £800, but in
spite of that I signed, and helped him to come to an
arrangement. A very nice little piece of business it
turned out for him, for the year after he was a richer
man than he'd ever been before, and he gave a thundering
big party, invited all the town&mdash;excepting me!"</p>

<p>"My dear Holm, if it ever should happen to me,
I'd take care you were invited too."</p>

<p>"Very good of you, I'm sure. But I'll tell you
another little story. Consul Pram was a big man,
with a big position, as you know, but a jovial soul,
and easy to get on with. I've a liking for men of that
sort. Well, it was in 1875, when things were at their
worst all round, for shipping and trade and everything
else we get our living by. I don't believe there was a<a class="pagenum" name="Page_120" id="Page_120" title="[Pg 120]"></a>
business in the town that wasn't eternally worried
about how things were to turn out.</p>

<p>"Then one day Pram came up to me. 'Puh,' said
he, 'it's hot,' and sat down, puffing. It was midsummer
and pretty warm.</p>

<p>"'You're right there,' said I, putting away my
balance-sheet. I'd just tacked £200 on to the valuation
of the premises to make it come out.</p>

<p>"'Times are pretty bad,' said he.</p>

<p>"'Not for a nabob like you, surely,' said I, feeling
a bit anxious all the same. There was a matter of
£150 between us. And I'd no idea where to rake up
any funds beyond.</p>

<p>"'I'm not sure if I'll pull through myself,' said he.</p>

<p>"'Nonsense, Consul&mdash;with your credit&mdash;&mdash;'</p>

<p>"'Still....'</p>

<p>"'Hermansen at the bank will let you have all
you want. <em>You're</em> safe enough.'</p>

<p>"'I've lost courage altogether now. It's hopeless
to keep going any longer in this place.'</p>

<p>"'But Lord save us, man, <em>you</em> mustn't go under.
If you did, there'd be more than myself would have
to go too.'</p>

<p>"'Well, you'll have to keep me out then, Holm,
that's all.'</p>

<p>"Only fancy me backing a bill for a man like Pram
when I was barely hanging on by my eyelids myself.</p>

<p>"Well, it was then the wonderful thing happened.
Just in the middle of the day, after Pram had gone,
came a letter enclosing £150&mdash;anonymous! I've
never felt so glad in all my life, Vindt&mdash;it was like a
message from Providence telling me to keep up my
pluck&mdash;and Consul Pram as well!</p>

<p>"That afternoon I went round to his office, and<a class="pagenum" name="Page_121" id="Page_121" title="[Pg 121]"></a>
backed a bill for £500. And next day Pram told me,
laughingly, that he had got the bank to discount it,
and Hermansen had said, 'Shouldn't have too much
to do with that Holm if I were you, Pram. Not first-rate
paper, really. But of course I'd take anything
with <em>your</em> name on!'</p>

<p>"Some time after I backed another bill for Pram,
and helped him in various little ways, for the man was
almost out of his senses with worry; I'm sure he'd
have gone smash if he'd been left to himself. I met
his wife, too, about that time, with the boy. She is
a woman of commanding presence, as you know, and
handsome, to look at, anyway. She gave me her
hand most cordially, and said, 'My sincerest thanks,
Mr. Holm, for all you have done for us. <em>I shall never,
never forget it.</em>'</p>

<p>"Six months after, the trouble was over, and young
Pram was getting up a sledge party, inviting all the
young people in the town. Marie's name was on the
list. 'No, leave her out,' said his mother. 'He's quite
a common person really, is that Holm.'</p>

<p>"And later, I understand, young Pram complained
to the bank manager that his father had had dealings
some time back with Knut G. Holm&mdash;bill transactions,
but in future he would not hear of anything of the sort.</p>

<p>"The bank manager had good sense enough to answer
that there was hardly any danger now in having dealings
with Knut G. Holm!</p>

<p>"Well, my dear Vindt, you can see for yourself
that all this doesn't incline one to further obligations.
There are one or two honourable exceptions, of course,
but as a general rule, I must say, gratitude is a delightful
quality, but forgetfulness is far more commonly met
with!</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_122" id="Page_122" title="[Pg 122]"></a>
"Still, I've never said no to a friend. One must
run the risk of losing both friend and money, and if
by some miracle both can be kept, why, so much the
better. Now, where's <a class="corr" name="TC_3" id="TC_3" title="you">your</a> bill?"</p>

<p>Holm took the document, scrutinised it closely, and
said:</p>

<p>"But, my dear man, this isn't for you at all?"</p>

<p>"I didn't say it was."</p>

<p>"Syvertsen&mdash;Syvertsen&mdash;what's he got to do with
it?"</p>

<p>"Well, you see, he's a young man reading for the
Church, and consequently in need of cash. So I argued
it out like this: an old sinner like myself ought to
keep on good terms with the clergy; wherefore I
undertook to act as first signatory in the present
instance, making myself responsible for the interest.
Now I want you to sign as second, guaranteeing the
repayments; in consideration of which, you might
reasonably demand the services of a priest, free of
charge, at your third wedding."</p>

<p>When Vindt had left, Holm fell to pondering over
various little circumstances that he had not particularly
noticed before. It occurred to him now, that
for the last fortnight he had had a message from
Mrs. Rantzau almost every day, asking him to come
and see her at nine o'clock precisely, on important
business!</p>

<p>And, thinking over this, he called to mind that he
had on nearly every occasion encountered Hermansen
at the same time. It could mean but one thing, she
had been using him to bring the banker up to the
scratch. Well&mdash;much good might it do her! "She'll
get a fine husband&mdash;oh, a remarkably fine husband,"
muttered Holm to himself with a sly chuckle.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_123" id="Page_123" title="[Pg 123]"></a>
He walked over to the window and looked across
at the bank. It seemed in some curious way to have
grown smaller; the great gilt letters, "BANK," above
the entrance, were no longer impressive.</p>

<p>Strange, how quiet it was in the shop to-day! Not
a sound but Garner counting over the cash, putting
the ten-shilling notes in bundles of ten, and the small
silver coins in paper rolls.</p>

<p>Miss Rantzau was away, and had not even sent a
message.</p>

<p>"Have you seen anything of my son to-day,
Garner?"</p>

<p>Garner laughed and showed his teeth. "He&mdash;he&mdash;no.
Isn't he down at the quay, then? No, I don't
know...."</p>

<p>Holm perceived that there was something in the
wind, and refrained from further inquiries.</p>

<p>A little later the maid came in: would Mr. Holm
please come upstairs, there was a lady to see him.</p>

<p>It was Mrs. Rantzau. She was all in black and
looked very handsome indeed. Holm could not help
admiring her magnificent figure, and thought to
himself that Hermansen certainly seemed to have
made a better bargain here than recently with the
Spaniard.</p>

<p>"I dare say you are surprised to see me here now,"
Mrs. Rantzau began. "But exceptional circumstances...."
she flushed, and broke off in some
confusion.</p>

<p>"Heard the news, my dear lady. Congratulations!
You've found an excellent husband, a thorough&mdash;&mdash;"
he checked himself, hesitating between compliment
and sincerity.</p>

<p>"You know my past, Holm, and you will not<a class="pagenum" name="Page_124" id="Page_124" title="[Pg 124]"></a>
wonder at my seeking a safe haven after my troubled
life&mdash;and I hope and believe he will never have reason
to regret."</p>

<p>"Indeed not, my dear lady; he's a very lucky man
if you ask me. And at his age, too&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"I don't think he's any older than yourself, Holm,"
put in Mrs. Rantzau, with a smile.</p>

<p>"Well, perhaps not&mdash;but he looks it, anyway."</p>

<p>"There was one thing more, Mr. Holm. My
daughter's future is more to me even than my own,
and it is chiefly on her account that I have come."</p>

<p>"Aha, I thought as much. So you're in the plot
as well, of course?"</p>

<p>"The plot?"</p>

<p>"Yes, it <em>is</em> a plot. First there's William turns as
contrary as a rusty lock, then they set Miss Trap on
to me, and now it's you!"</p>

<p>"Well&mdash;I came to tell you that the two young people
love each other. Be good to them, Holm, and you
will make your son and my daughter happy together."</p>

<p>"And by doing so I become a sort of relation of&mdash;of
Banker Hermansen?"</p>

<p>"Well, is there anything wrong in that?"</p>

<p>"Hermansen and I as a sort of&mdash;well, what should
we be? Can't be each other's half-uncles&mdash;twins-in-law.
Bless my soul, it's really almost comical!"</p>

<p>"It's a serious matter to me, Holm. My child's
future...." There were tears in her eyes as she spoke.</p>

<p>"My dear lady, for Heaven's sake don't let's turn
serious. I simply can't stand that sort of wedding-day
solemnity, weeping on one another's necks as if
it were a funeral. It simply comes to this: I've
been had. Well, the only thing to do is to put the
best face on it one can."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_125" id="Page_125" title="[Pg 125]"></a>
She held out her hand. "Thanks, Holm. Thanks.
I can assure you I shall never forget all your kindness.
You are a good man, Holm."</p>

<p>"Thanks for the unsolicited testimonial. Well, I
dare say I might be worse. And when it comes to
getting out one's final balance-sheet, it's as well to
have a little on the credit side here and there."</p>

<p>He walked across to the window and stood for some
time without speaking.</p>

<p>"Have you seen William to-day?" he said at last.</p>

<p>"Yes, he came round to see us, and walked back
here with me. I expect he's in the office now."</p>

<p>"Well, we'd better have him up, and get the matter
settled out of hand at once."</p>

<p>As he was moving towards the door, Bramsen looked
in.</p>

<p>"Beg pardon, Mr. Holm," he began, then stopped
and stood looking from one to the other. "Er&mdash;h'm.
Hopes I don't intrude?"</p>

<p>"Not a bit, Bramsen; come in! What's the
trouble?"</p>

<p>"Why, 'twas just a bit of a private matter, if...."</p>

<p>Holm went over to him. "Anything wrong,
Bramsen?"</p>

<p>"Andrine's come home and chucked the Salvationing
business for good and all."</p>

<p>"Why, so much the better."</p>

<p>"Ay, but there's the book...."</p>

<p>"What book?"</p>

<p>"The savings-bank book&mdash;she wants it back.
And now there's nothing in it, for when I bought the
ship, d'you see...."</p>

<p>"We must talk it over later, Bramsen. I'm busy
just now."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_126" id="Page_126" title="[Pg 126]"></a>
"Busy, eh? I see," said Bramsen, looking sideways
at Mrs. Rantzau. And, lowering his voice, he whispered
slyly, "<i>That's a fine one you've got there!</i>" and retired.</p>

<p>"Bramsen," Holm called after him, "tell William
to come up, will you? You'll find him in the office."</p>

<p>William came in directly after, went up to his father
and took his hand.</p>

<p>"Thank you, father," he said. "I didn't understand
at first, but Miss Trap told me all about it.
That you only wanted to try us&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Eh? Try you? Yes&mdash;yes, of course.... Yes,
my son; it was&mdash;er&mdash;it was the only way I could see
to make a sensible man of you, and get that artistic
nonsense out of your head. Good idea, don't you
think? Competition's a good thing all round&mdash;checks
abnormal fluctuations of the market, you know."</p>

<p>"Father, I'm the happiest man on earth."</p>

<p>"Your respected mother-in-law, I've had the
pleasure of meeting her before...."</p>

<p>"Have you, though?"</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;abroad. It's many years ago now," put in
Mrs. Rantzau hastily.</p>

<p>"And now, William, you'd better go off and fetch
Betty, I think," said Holm. "And we'll have a little
party this evening. I hope you will come too!"</p>

<p>"Thank you so much, Mr. Holm; I hope I can.
But I must just speak to Alfred first."</p>

<p>"Alfred?"</p>

<p>"My fiancé, Banker Hermansen."</p>

<p>"Oh yes, yes, of course. I really didn't know he
had a Christian name&mdash;he's always been just Banker
Hermansen."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>Holm came down into the shop, muttering to himself,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_127" id="Page_127" title="[Pg 127]"></a>
"Alfred&mdash;Alfred...." until he had to go into his
inner office where he could laugh unobserved. Of all
the extraordinary things....</p>

<p>He thought of Bianca in the old days, and called to
mind the "Carnival of Venice," the little supper at
Pfortes&mdash;and in the midst of it all loomed the stiff,
upright figure and solemn, clean-shaven face of Banker
Hermansen.</p>

<p>He had never dreamed of such a marvel, still less
expected to meet with it as a reality.</p>

<p>That same afternoon came a card from Hermansen:
would be glad if Mr. Holm could find time to come
round some time during the day&mdash;a private matter.
"And if you would not mind coming in by the side
door, you will find me alone in the office."</p>

<p>Holm had once before been invited to call upon the
banker "privately"&mdash;in 1879, when he had been
called upon to show his balance-sheet.</p>

<p>The mere thought of it gave him cold shivers even
now. A devilish business! And the nasty mean way
all his valuations were cut down....</p>

<p>He went in by the side entrance, and noticed how
empty and deserted the place looked. The long
counter and all the green-covered desks stood as if
yawning wearily in the afternoon sun. It was almost
uncanny to find everything so quiet.</p>

<p>The banker did not seem to notice his entry at first,
but sat intent upon some papers at the big oak table.</p>

<p>"Good afternoon, Banker!"</p>

<p>"Ah, there you are! Forgive my troubling you to
come round, Mr. Holm, but...."</p>

<p>He broke off, uncertain how to proceed. The two
ancient antagonists exchanged glances.</p>

<p>For the first time in his life Holm felt himself master<a class="pagenum" name="Page_128" id="Page_128" title="[Pg 128]"></a>
of the situation towards Hermansen; this time it was
the banker himself who had to show his balance.</p>

<p>"Well, Mr. Holm, I dare say you have heard...."</p>

<p>But Holm ignored the opening. "No, no, my
friend," he thought to himself, "you can play your
miserable hand alone, <em>I'm</em> not going to help you out."</p>

<p>"I have committed the indiscretion of&mdash;er&mdash;becoming
engaged," said the banker, with a faint smile.</p>

<p>"Hearty congratulations, my dear Banker," said
Holm, offering his hand.</p>

<p>There was a pause, the banker evidently waiting for
Holm, with his customary fluency, to break the ice.
Here, however, he was disappointed; Holm merely
set his teeth and fell to polishing his silk hat on one
sleeve. The banker tried again.</p>

<p>"Mrs. Rantzau, my fiancée, has informed me that
we shall be&mdash;er&mdash;in a sort of way related." He smiled
invitingly, and thought: he must come round after that.</p>

<p>Holm was a little in doubt how best to proceed now;
he was not averse to prolonging the other's awkwardness.</p>

<p>"Highly honoured, I'm sure. Yes, my son has
been so fortunate as to gain the hand of&mdash;er&mdash;your
fiancée's daughter. A charming young lady, charming.
Takes after her mother." He checked himself; he
had said more than he wished.</p>

<p>A long pause.</p>

<p>The banker shifted some books on the table, then
suddenly he slipped up to Holm, laid one hand on his
shoulder and said:</p>

<p>"We haven't always got on as well as we might
together, Holm; circumstances have sometimes been
against our friendly co-operation; but don't you
think, now, we might forget all that and try to start
on a more friendly footing? We're both old enough<a class="pagenum" name="Page_129" id="Page_129" title="[Pg 129]"></a>
now to be glad of peace and amity, and our new relations
ought to bring us closer together&mdash;what do you say?"</p>

<p>Holm was quite taken aback; he had never seen
the banker in this mood before; the man was positively
getting sentimental. He had unbuttoned his coat, and
his voice was quite gentle.</p>

<p>"It shan't be my fault if we don't, Hermansen.
I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Time cures all
sorrows&mdash;patches up a doubtful balance-sheet, as you
might say&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"My dear Holm, pray don't mention it."</p>

<p>"Well, well, it might have been worse&mdash;as the
auditor said. You're in luck's way, though, Hermansen.
I've had the honour of some slight acquaintance
with your fiancée in former days."</p>

<p>"No, really! Where did you meet her?"</p>

<p>"Oh, it was some years ago&mdash;we met at the house
of some mutual friends&mdash;abroad. A noble woman,
Hermansen, a woman of splendid character."</p>

<p>"One might almost think you'd been my competitor
there, Holm, what?" said the banker, with a laugh.</p>

<p>"Why, I won't say but I might have been inclined....
But the lady&mdash;er&mdash;showed better taste, worse
luck," answered Holm, with a bow.</p>

<p>"Thanks for the compliment! You're quite a diplomatist,
Holm&mdash;I haven't seen you in that rôle before."</p>

<p>Holm put his head on one side and looked at the
banker with a quizzical expression.</p>

<p>"Haven't you&mdash;though? Not in the little matter
of the Spanish frigate?"</p>

<p>"Ah, yes&mdash;you had me there, I'm afraid. Very
neatly done, though, very neat. There'll be a nice
little profit on the repairs, I'm sure&mdash;but it's all in the
family now."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_130" id="Page_130" title="[Pg 130]"></a>
The conversation was becoming more genial in tone,
and when the cigars were lit the two old antagonists
were chatting away like the best of friends.</p>

<p>Holm invited the banker to a "little family party"
the same evening, to celebrate the double event. Hermansen
accepted with thanks, and the pair separated
with a cordial shake of the hand.</p>

<p>Holm walked back to the office with his hat at a
more than usually rakish angle, as was his way when
in high spirits. He swung his stick cheerfully, and
felt a comforting sense of superiority in all directions.
There was no one to oppose him now.</p>

<p>"Hello, you're looking unusually perky to-day!
What's it all about?" This was from Vindt, who was
sure to be quick on the scent of anything new.</p>

<p>"I've just come from my so-called brother-in-law,
Hermansen, that's all, my boy."</p>

<p>"Oho! Distinguished brother-in-law, what?"</p>

<p>"Well, I'm quite satisfied with him myself. And&mdash;er&mdash;h'm&mdash;he'll
be my boy's father-in-law too, you
know, in a way."</p>

<p>Vindt stood a moment sniffing at the stump of his
cigar, then, thrusting one finger into the buttonhole of
Holm's coat, he said solemnly:</p>

<p>"Mrs. Emilie Rantzau and <a class="corr" name="TC_4" id="TC_4" title="daugher">daughter</a>: Knut G. Holm
and son and Banker Hermansen, Knight of the Order
of Vasa, etcetera. H'm. That's the worst of these
cheap smokes; they stick when you've got half-way.
So long, old stick-in-the-mud!"</p>

<p>"Queer old stick," said Holm to himself as the other
walked away. "Getting quite crabby of late. But
he ought to have married himself long ago."</p>

<p>And Holm went home to make arrangements for
a thoroughly festive evening.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_131" id="Page_131" title="[Pg 131]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X<br />
THE SHIP COMES HOME</h2>


<p>It was Sunday. Bramsen and Andrine had had
a settling up, the day before, of various matters
outstanding, and the savings-bank book had
been handed over, with its "Cr. balance 19s. 6œd."&mdash;being
all that remained from the interregnum period
of Bramsen's term of office as Chancellor of the Exchequer.</p>

<p>Andrine opened the book and stood aghast.</p>

<p>"But&mdash;but, sakes alive, Paal, where's all the money
gone?"</p>

<p>"The money&mdash;why&mdash;the money&mdash;h'm...." And
in his embarrassment he looked appealingly at Amanda,
who nudged him encouragingly in the ribs and
whispered:</p>

<p>"Go on&mdash;it's all right. Tell her straight out."</p>

<p>"Why, you see, Andrine, it's like this. When you
handed over charge of all this worldly mammon,
that's naught but vanity and vexation of spirits and
so on, and a clog upon the soul...."</p>

<p>"Oh, leave out all that and say what you've done with
the money." Andrine was quivering with impatience.</p>

<p>"Well&mdash;I&mdash;I bought the ship."</p>

<p>"Ship&mdash;what ship?"</p>

<p>"The <i>Erik</i>, 216 ton register, B. I. to 1901, 12œ ft.
with full cargo...."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_132" id="Page_132" title="[Pg 132]"></a>
"Overhauled last year," prompted Amanda.</p>

<p>"Heavens! Fool that I was not to have known
what you'd be up to. And now here we are as penniless
as Adam and Eve."</p>

<p>Andrine held her apron to her eyes, weeping "buckets
and hosepipes" as Bramsen later put it to Holm.</p>

<p>Bramsen and Amanda were alarmed at the way she
took it, and endeavoured to console her as best they
could. Neither said a word as yet about Amanda's
engagement; it was plain that to mention it now
would bring on a seizure at least.</p>

<p>"Oh&mdash;oh&mdash;oh, how could I be such a fool!" sobbed
Andrine.</p>

<p>"Well, now, to tell the truth, Andrine, I'd never
have thought it of you myself, to take up with the
like of that nonsense. But seeing we've got you back
again now, safe and sound, why, best say no more
about it."</p>

<p>"What&mdash;whatever did you want to go buying ships
for, Bramsen?"</p>

<p>"Why, you see, it was mostly because of Carljohan...."
Bramsen in his eagerness had said too
much, and Amanda judged it best to disappear into
the kitchen for a while.</p>

<p>"Carljohan who?" Andrine stopped crying and
looked up sharply.</p>

<p>"Why, Johnsen's son."</p>

<p>"What's he got to do with it?"</p>

<p>"Why, he's a deal to do with it, now he and Amanda's
fixed things up together."</p>

<p>"Amanda! That child! And you let them!"
Andrine drew herself up impressively, and Bramsen
cowered.</p>

<p>"Don't you forget, Andrine," he said, "we weren't<a class="pagenum" name="Page_133" id="Page_133" title="[Pg 133]"></a>
so very old, you and I, when we got spliced together;
and he's a first-rate lad. There isn't a knot or a twist
he doesn't know, and you should see him up aloft&mdash;a
cat's not in it. And wrestling too&mdash;mark my words,
he'll make his way in the world, and I'm sorry for the
man that comes athwart him."</p>

<p>"Oh yes, you can talk! But seems to me you've
been doing your best to ruin us all while I've been
away."</p>

<p>"We're not ruined yet, my girl, nor likely to be, I
hope. Just wait and see." And Bramsen patted his
wife on the cheek.</p>

<p>Andrine calmed down after a while, and when
Amanda came in with steaming coffee and hot cakes,
the three sat down in peace and amity, and were soon
discussing the excellent qualities of Carljohan and the
ship.</p>

<p>"It's been pretty rough these last few days&mdash;we'll
soon see what she's good for," said Bramsen, thinking
of the ship.</p>

<p>"If only they come home safe and sound," sighed
Amanda, thinking of Carljohan.</p>

<p>And so, on Sunday morning, behold the three of
them walking down to church; neither Bramsen nor
Amanda thought of playing truant to-day, so thankful
were they to feel that Andrine had "come round"
and all was well.</p>

<p>And Bramsen was, to tell the truth, relieved to have
got it over. With the bank-book once more in Andrine's
care, he felt the responsibility lifted from his shoulders.
The reins of government were once more in Andrine's
hands, and he had his ten shillings extra per month
unbeknown to her as before.</p>

<p>Amanda had always chosen their place in church<a class="pagenum" name="Page_134" id="Page_134" title="[Pg 134]"></a>
up in the gallery close to the pulpit. From here
one could see the parson turning the leaves of his
sermon, and so calculate roughly how far he was
from the end. Furthermore, there was the loveliest
view over the harbour and the fjord through one of
the big windows.</p>

<p>There had been a number of wrecks during the
recent gales, and Amanda could not keep her thoughts
from Carljohan and his ship. The voice of the parson,
and the singing rang in her ears like the rush of waters;
she sat staring blankly at her hymn-book, open at
No. 106, though there had been three since that.</p>

<p>Once or twice she woke, to hear her father's voice
trailing behind the rest in a hymn, sounding all through
the church, till people turned to look. Amanda
flushed with embarrassment, but Bramsen went on
all unconscious, plodding through each verse in his
own time, regardless of the rest.</p>

<p>But always she fell back upon her own thoughts,
of the ship and Carljohan; it was a wonder to her
how Mother Christiansen, whose husband was also on
board, could sit there so calmly, as if there was nothing
to fear. And she with all those children to think of!</p>

<p>The sermon now&mdash;but Carljohan was out on the
North Sea and terrible weather. Great seas breaking
over the bows, till the fo'c'stle was almost hidden.</p>

<p>And up in the rigging was Carljohan shortening
sail&mdash;oh, how the vessel pitched and rolled, till the
yards almost touched the water.</p>

<p>If he should lose his hold&mdash;if he should be swept
away&mdash;Amanda gasped at the thought, and clutched
her father's hand.</p>

<p>"What is it, Amanda? Are you ill?" whispered
Bramsen anxiously<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span></p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_135" id="Page_135" title="[Pg 135]"></a>
"No, no; only keep still. I'll be all right directly."</p>

<p>The organ pealed and the sound of the hymn filled
the church.</p>

<p>Amanda could not sing a note; she was certain
now that something had happened to Carljohan. Her
tears flowed in streams, and she was hard put to it
to hide them behind handkerchief and book.</p>

<p>She could hear Mother Christiansen's cracked voice
just behind, and tried in vain to join in herself.</p>

<p>Already she glanced out of the big window beyond
the choir. On the farther side of the harbour lay a
vessel at anchor.</p>

<p>But&mdash;it had not been there before! Surely ... yes,
it was a vessel just in&mdash;its flag still flying!&mdash;Heavens,
it was the <i>Erik</i>!</p>

<p>She stood up to make sure. Yes, it was she. It
was she! There was the big white figure-head&mdash;there
was no mistake.</p>

<p>And Amanda joined in the singing with her masterful
voice, till those near at hand looked at her in wonder.
Bramsen himself stopped singing for a moment to
listen. Then he took up the verse again and sang on
bravely as before.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_136" id="Page_136" title="[Pg 136]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI<br />
THE CONCERT</h2>


<p>There was to be an evening concert at the
Assembly Rooms. The local papers for the
previous day had leading articles about "Hans
Martinsen, the boy musician who has been studying
in Christiania, and is now appearing for the first time
in public in his native town. Critics from all quarters
are unanimously agreed as to his remarkable talent, and
already prophesy a brilliant future, though his powers,
at this early stage, have naturally not yet attained
their full development. It is to be hoped that the
music-loving section of our community will be numerously
represented, that the promising young artist may
receive the support and encouragement he deserves."</p>

<p>The fine hall was splendidly illuminated. The
great windows fronting the street shed a glow of
light over the crowd of staring idlers outside.</p>

<p>Malla Trap crossed the road, making towards the
entrance, but meeting a group of young girls who
were admiring the illuminations, she stopped to speak
to them.</p>

<p>"Well, children, going to the concert?"</p>

<p>"No&mdash;o," answered one or two regretfully, curtsying
as they spoke. They knew Miss Trap as a sister
at the poor school, which most of them had attended.</p>

<p>"Well, come along, and I'll get you in."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_137" id="Page_137" title="[Pg 137]"></a>
The girls followed delightedly, and Malla Trap took
tickets for them all.</p>

<p>Across the bridge came Hans Martinsen, with his
mother. On reaching the entrance he had to stop
and look round, everyone was nodding and waving to
him in kindly greeting.</p>

<p>"Good-day, Hans!" came in a fresh young voice
behind him. He turned, and saw a girl smiling and
nodding. "I'm coming in to hear you play." And
she waved a big yellow ticket.</p>

<p>"Why, surely&mdash;is it you, Amanda? How are you
getting on?"</p>

<p>"Splendid, thanks. This is Carljohan; he's just
come back from a voyage."</p>

<p>"And your father and mother? Give them my
love, won't you?"</p>

<p>"Thanks, I will. Oh, but Hans"&mdash;she came close
to him and whispered&mdash;"Dear Hans, <em>do</em> play 'The
Little Fisher-Maid' to please me&mdash;will you?"</p>

<p>"I'm not sure if I can, Amanda."</p>

<p>"Oh, of course you can. Why, you played it
hundreds of times at old Clemmetsen's."</p>

<p>"Well, I'll see.... But I must go in now. Good-bye."</p>

<p>The great hall was filled to overflowing. All the
musical element was present as a matter of course,
and in addition a number of those who never went
to concerts as a rule, as for instance the Mayor and
Broker Vindt, who took seats at the back. Up in the
gallery were a number of Hans' old schoolfellows,
all greatly excited at the event.</p>

<p>Suddenly the buzz of talk was hushed, and all eyes
were turned towards a group coming up the centre
of the hall.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_138" id="Page_138" title="[Pg 138]"></a>
It was Banker Hermansen, still and solemn, with
Mrs. Rantzau, fresh and smiling, at his side. Behind
them walked William Holm and Miss Rantzau,
evidently somewhat embarrassed by the general
scrutiny.</p>

<p>Holm senior, who was also one of the party, lagged
behind a little, stopping to exchange a word with the
Mayor and his friend.</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau found her place in one of the upper
rows, and stood looking down for Holm, beckoning
with a smile when she caught his eye. She let her
gaze wander over the assembly, and something like
a murmur of applause went up. Mrs. Rantzau was
undeniably a splendid woman, and was at her best
that evening.</p>

<p>"Get along up to the front with you, old fossil,"
said Vindt, with a friendly nudge, and Holm walked
up, nodding genially to acquaintances all round.</p>

<p>"Fine figure of a woman, what?" whispered the
Mayor, glancing towards Mrs. Rantzau.</p>

<p>"H'm," said Vindt. "Handsome enough to look
at, but a bit of a handful to look after, if you ask me.
Like the cakes in a cookshop window&mdash;I like 'em, but
they don't agree with me!"</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>There was silence in the hall as the first notes rang
out. All were watching the young performer; a
little anxiously perhaps, as if in fear lest he should
break down. And all felt that in some degree the
honour of the town was here at stake, for the boy was
one of their own.</p>

<p>But the little figure at the piano sat calm and free
from nervousness; he was in another world, where he
felt himself at home. The watching eyes and listening<a class="pagenum" name="Page_139" id="Page_139" title="[Pg 139]"></a>
ears did not trouble him; he seemed gazing inwardly
at a starry sky far above them all.</p>

<p>The music swelled and sank, now wild and furious
as the north-east wind raging over the rocky coast in
autumn, then gentle as the evening breeze of a summer's
day.</p>

<p>Eyes glistened now with fervour, hearts beat
proudly. All present seemed to share in his happiness,
to have some part in the triumph of his
genius.</p>

<p>The applause was hearty and unanimous.</p>

<p>"Bravo, Hans!" came a deep voice from the
gallery. All turned to see who had spoken. Ah,
there&mdash;it was Bramsen, standing up with both hands
outstretched and clapping thunderously.</p>

<p>Amanda flushed with embarrassment, and nudged
her father to make him stop. But he snapped out
impatiently, "You leave me alone!" and went on
clapping.</p>

<p>Among the numerous extras was a "Ballad theme
with variations," which the more exacting critics considered
somewhat out of place. One there was, however,
who thought otherwise, and that was Amanda.
The soft, swaying rhythm of "The Little Fisher-Maid"
filled her with delight, and she clapped as enthusiastically
as her father had done.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>"Father, I think I've learned something from that
concert this evening," said William, as they walked
home.</p>

<p>"Well, my boy, and what was that?"</p>

<p>"Why, that genius is like pure gold; if Nature
hasn't put it there it's no use trying to make it."</p>

<p>"You're right, my son. And sensible people don't<a class="pagenum" name="Page_140" id="Page_140" title="[Pg 140]"></a>
try. It's no good setting up to do the work of your
Creator. What do you say, Banker?"</p>

<p>"Eh, what's that?" Hermansen was walking arm
in arm with Mrs. Rantzau, and the pair of them were
evidently oblivious of all but each other.</p>

<p>"I say, the best thing we can do in this life's to live
like sensible people."</p>

<p>"<em>Errors and omissions excepted</em>," answered the
banker, and he pressed his fiancée's hand long and
tenderly.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_141" id="Page_141" title="[Pg 141]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII<br />
OLD NICK</h2>


<p>"This where Petter Nekkelsen lives?"</p>

<p>The speaker was an awkward-looking lad,
acting as postman in Strandvik for the
first time.</p>

<p>"No, you muddlehead." Old Lawyer Nickelsen
held out his hand for the letters. "This is where
Peder, comma, N. Nickelsen, full stop, lives. And a
nice lot of louts they've got going around, that can't
learn to call folk by their proper names!"</p>

<p>Thor Smith, the magistrate's clerk, was of the same
opinion, but liked a touch of honest dialect occasionally;
he was not unwilling on occasion to contradict Old Nick.</p>

<p>"Honest dialect, indeed! Rank impertinence, I
call it! But wait a bit, young fellow; in a few years'
time you'll be wishing these understrappers at the
North Pole, or some other cool place."</p>

<p>The two men filled their pipes, and took up their
position on the veranda of Lawyer Nickelsen's house,
continuing their discussion as to the merits of natural
simplicity, concerning which they held diametrically
opposite views.</p>

<p>The lawyer was a bachelor of sixty-seven, and kept
what he called a home for young men of decent behaviour
and tolerable manners. In particular he had,
ever since he first came to the place forty-three years<a class="pagenum" name="Page_142" id="Page_142" title="[Pg 142]"></a>
earlier, kept open house for the magistrate's clerks
successively, taking them under his paternal care and
protection from their first entering on their duties in
the town.</p>

<p>Smith and Nickelsen sat on the veranda, but somehow
the discussion fell curiously flat. Smith was
unusually absent and uncommunicative, to such a
degree that Nickelsen at last asked him point blank
what was the matter.</p>

<p>"Oh, nothing. H'm. I say, Nickelsen, that
fellow Prois&mdash;he's an intolerable old curmudgeon."</p>

<p>"Oho, so that's the trouble! Won't have you for
a son-in-law, what?"</p>

<p>"Oh, don't talk nonsense."</p>

<p>Smith stepped aside, and scraped out the tobacco
from the pipe he had just filled, but Old Nick's searching
glance perceived that he had flushed up to the
roots of his hair.</p>

<p>"My dear Smith, I agree with you that Tulla Prois
is a charming girl. A pity, though, they couldn't find
another name to give her. They were making songs
about it last winter."</p>

<p>"Oh, don't drag in that silly stuff, Nickelsen, for
Heaven's sake. I can't see anything funny in it
myself."</p>

<p>Old Nick laid down his pipe and put on his glasses,
and sat watching the other with an expression only
half serious. He found himself hard put to it not to
laugh. At last, finding nothing more suitable to say,
he ventured in a tone of unnatural innocence: "Smith,
what do you say to a drink?"</p>

<p>Old Nick was irresistible. Smith could not help
laughing himself. "Oh, you incorrigible old joker,"
he said, giving the other a dig in the ribs.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_143" id="Page_143" title="[Pg 143]"></a>
The ice once broken, and under the influence of a
glass of good Madeira&mdash;Old Nick invariably had "something
special" in that line&mdash;Smith opened his heart,
and revealed Tulla Prois in the leading rôle of Angel,
etcetera, Papa Prois being cast for the part of hard-hearted
father, or "intolerable old curmudgeon"&mdash;which
amounted to much the same thing.</p>

<p>"I met him yesterday, just come back from
Christiania, with a whole armful of parcels he could
hardly carry. I went up as politely as could be, and
offered to lend a hand, and what d'you think he said?"</p>

<p>Old Nick shook his head and tried to look interested.</p>

<p>"Shouted out at the top of his voice so all the street
could hear him, 'No, I'm damned if you do!' Nice
sort of father-in-law that, eh?"</p>

<p>"There's a dance on at the Seamen's Union to-morrow,
Smith. You're going, I suppose?"</p>

<p>Smith brightened up at once. "Yes, of course, we
must go; you must come along too, Nickelsen. But&mdash;but&mdash;isn't
old Prois chairman of the committee?"</p>

<p>"Quite so&mdash;and for that very reason all the more
chance of your meeting your&mdash;young lady, I was going
to say."</p>

<p>"Then you'll come?"</p>

<p>"Me? Go to a dance, with my gout and all?
Well, I don't know, perhaps I might. Get myself up
spick and span, and have my corns cut specially for
the occasion&mdash;I might pass in a crowd, what?"</p>

<p>The dance took place, and on the following day
Old Nick sat pondering and trying to remember what
had happened after twelve o'clock, his memory being
somewhat defective.</p>

<p>No&mdash;it was no good. He could not remember a
thing. He had a vague recollection of talking to<a class="pagenum" name="Page_144" id="Page_144" title="[Pg 144]"></a>
Tulla Prois, and saying a whole lot of extravagantly
affectionate things, but beyond that all was confusion.</p>

<p>"Only hope I didn't make a scene, that's all. H'm&mdash;Puh&mdash;weakness
of mine&mdash;infernal nuisance. And
I don't seem to get any better&mdash;oh, well, what's the
odds after all!"</p>

<p>The final note of resignation in his monologue
revived his inexhaustible natural good spirits, and with
a contented smile he sat down to indite the following
letter to Smith, who was, he knew, in court that day:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="b0">"<span class="smcap">Dear Smith</span>,&mdash;For various reasons I find myself
unable to recollect anything of last night's happenings.
And being in consequence much troubled in mind lest
something scandalous may have taken place, and my
position of unimpeachable respectability in the town
undermined, you are hereby invited to dine with me
to-day, in order that we can discuss the matter and,
if necessary, find some means of meeting the situation.&mdash;Yours,</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Old Nick</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>Old Martha, Nickelsen's housekeeper, shuffled along
to the court-house, with strict injunctions to bring back
an answer, and returned half an hour later with a
scrap of paper from Smith, on which were scribbled
the following lines in pencil:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear old Friend</span>,&mdash;Ten minutes ago I said to
a man convicted of illicit dealing in spirits, 'You are
<i lang="la">in culpa</i>, my good man, and you may as well confess
it first as last.' But at the same moment it struck
me fairly to the heart that I might say the very same
thing to myself.</p>

<p>"Yes, I am <i lang="la">in culpa</i>&mdash;&mdash; To think that dance
should have proved the occasion of my downfall! So<a class="pagenum" name="Page_145" id="Page_145" title="[Pg 145]"></a>
beautiful she was&mdash;and so gracious towards me, that
my heart beat in quiet delight&mdash;until that old shark&mdash;that
bottle-nosed shark, her father.... Ugh!</p>

<p>"He got me on to talking politics, and I, fool that
I was, I took the bait, declared myself a Republican,
Jacobin, Anarchist, showed myself a thousand times
worse than I am, simply because the sight of his
bottle-nosed caricature of a face turned me sour.
Fool, fool that I was! I forgot he was her father,
and now my hopes are simply done for. The old man
was furious, said he couldn't forget me, and so on.
So altogether I am utterly miserable, not to say
desperate. For I know if I'm to lose Tulla Prois,
then&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p class="b0">"I shall come round to dinner. Thanks.&mdash;Yours,</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Smith</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>Old Nick sat quietly for a moment, then burst out
laughing, and went out into the garden to hoist the
flag, by way of celebrating&mdash;well, had anyone asked
him, he would probably have answered "the morning
after the night before."</p>

<p>It was nothing unusual, however, for Old Nick to
hoist his flag, especially of late, since Schoolmaster
Pedersen opposite had taken to hoisting "clean
colours."<a name="FNanchor_1" id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The first time Old Nick saw this, he at
once ordered a huge white sheet with the Union mark
in one corner. And every time the "clean colours"
were hoisted, up went Old Nick's as well, and his flag
being of uncommon dimensions, hid from the seaward
side not only the opposition flag, but a good deal of
the schoolmaster's house as well.</p>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1" id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> "Clean Colours"&mdash;the Norwegian flag without the Union
mark, <i>i.e.</i> as repudiating the Union with Sweden.</p></div>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_146" id="Page_146" title="[Pg 146]"></a>
At dinner that evening Old Nick did his utmost to
make things cheerful, but in vain; Smith was miserable,
and miserable he remained.</p>

<p>"You don't know what feeling is, Nickelsen&mdash;or
else you've forgotten."</p>

<p>"Oh, my dear fellow, I only wish I had a mark for
every time I've been in love."</p>

<p>"In love, you! You don't know what it is."</p>

<p>"Yes, my boy, and seriously, too. I'll tell you
what happened to me one time at Kongsberg that
way. I was clerk to old Lawyer Albrektsen, and
lived a gay bachelor life up there. The local chemist
was a man named Walter, and had four daughters, one
prettier than the others; but the eldest but one was
a perfect picture of a girl, bright and cheery, and with
a pink-and-white complexion, you never saw. Enough
to turn the head of any son of Adam, I assure you.
We went for walks and danced together, and were
really fond of each other; in a word, the double barrel
of our hearts was just on the point of going off&mdash;when
an event occurred which severed once and for all the
tender bonds that were about to unite Petrea Walter
and yours truly.</p>

<p>"It was my birthday, the twentieth November, as
you know, and I had a few friends coming round in
the evening, as usual, to celebrate the occasion. The
punch was made in the old style, with Armagnac and
acid. Well, we got more and more lively as the
evening went on, and one bowl after another was
emptied. And then came the disaster; we ran out
of acid. Punch without acid was not to be thought
of&mdash;and there were no such things as lemons in those
days. Well, the fellows all voted for going round to
the chemist's and ringing him up for more. I tried<a class="pagenum" name="Page_147" id="Page_147" title="[Pg 147]"></a>
all I knew to keep them from it, but they couldn't
hear a word, and at last off we all went to Master
Walter's.</p>

<p>"We lowered down all the oil lamps in the street
on our way&mdash;this incidentally, as illustrating the distressingly
low degree of civilisation in Kongsberg in
those days.</p>

<p>"When we got to the place, the first floor was all
in darkness. There she lay asleep, up there, my
beloved Petrea! All dark and silent everywhere,
only a faint gleam from the lamp in the shop below
shone out into the street. I begged my friends to
keep quiet, while I tried as softly as could be to wake
up the man in charge. But alas, fate willed it otherwise.
Carl Henrik, my old friend, was by way of
being a poet, and never lost a chance of improvising
something. He stood up on the steps 'to make a
speech,' but just as he was going to begin, the door
opened, and there was old Walter himself in dressing-gown
and slippers, with a candle in his hand. Carl
Henrik made an elegant bow, and reeled off at once:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">'Good Master Walter, we confess<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It's wrong to wake you up like this,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But hear our plea, we pray you, first;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We're simply perishing with thirst,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And since you're there, and know the stuff,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pray let us have it&mdash;<em>quantum suff</em>!'<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"Old Walter was furious. 'What the devil!' he
cried out. 'Is the fellow mad?'</p>

<p>"I dragged Carl Henrik down from the steps, and
went myself, hat in hand, and begged his pardon; said
we were awfully sorry, we thought it was the assistant
on duty. 'Well, and what then&mdash;is anyone ill?'
'Why, no, sir, I'm glad to say, but it's my birthday<a class="pagenum" name="Page_148" id="Page_148" title="[Pg 148]"></a>
to-day, that's all.'&mdash;'Yesterday, you mean,' roars out
Carl Henrik from below.&mdash;'It's my birthday, and I
only wanted to ask if you'd let us have a little acid
for the punch.'</p>

<p>"'I'll give you punch,' said the old man, and landed
out at me, sending me headlong down the steps into
the arms of the poet; Carl Henrik urging me to bear
up bravely against what he called the blows of fate.</p>

<p>"I met Petrea out next day, but the moment she
caught sight of me she slipped across the street into
the flower shop opposite. I waited outside a full
hour, but no sight of Petrea&mdash;she must have gone
out the back way so as not to meet me. Well, that
was the end of the first Punic war, my dear Smith,
and I left Kongsberg with a wounded heart&mdash;though
I'm bound to say it healed up again all right pretty
soon."</p>

<p>Smith had brightened up considerably by now, but,
try as he would, he could not admit that Old Nick's
experience as related was analogous to the present
situation.</p>

<p>"I tell you, Nickelsen, this is a serious affair; as a
matter of fact, we're&mdash;we're secretly engaged, Tulla
and I."</p>

<p>"Uf!" said Old Nick; he had nearly broken the neck
of a bottle of old Pontet Canet he was opening. Old
Nick drank a glass, sniffed at the wine, put on a serious
air and said solemnly:</p>

<p>"It's getting cloudy."</p>

<p>Smith hung his head; he found the situation
cloudy.</p>

<p>"What do you think I ought to do? Go up and
beg old Prois's pardon?" asked Smith.</p>

<p>Old Nick sat for quite a while thinking deeply,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_149" id="Page_149" title="[Pg 149]"></a>
holding the Pontet Canet up to the light. "H'm&mdash;h'm."
Then suddenly he jumped up, and slapped
Smith on the back with a serviette.</p>

<p>"We can save the situation. I've got an idea.
We'll get up a public banquet for old Prois. Yes,
that's what I say. And we'll send out the invitations
ourselves&mdash;you and I."</p>

<p>"But, my dear man, you can't give a public banquet
without some sort of pretext, and what are we to
tell people it's for? Old Prois he's warden of the
Pilot's Guild, but he hasn't done anything notable
in the town, that I'm aware of, up to now."</p>

<p>"Oh, we must find something or other. Let me
see&mdash;he's on the Health Committee&mdash;no, that won't do."</p>

<p>"He lent a flag to the committee for the Constitution
Day festivities," said Smith sarcastically.</p>

<p>"No, that's not enough. But wait a bit. He
must have been on the Rates Committee twenty-five
years now&mdash;yes, of course. That's the very thing.
I'll be chairman, you can be secretary. Dinner at
Naes's Hotel on Saturday next&mdash;make it a Saturday,
so folk can have Sunday to sleep it off after."</p>

<p>Smith was very doubtful still.</p>

<p>"But suppose he thinks it's a hoax&mdash;then we'd be
worse off than before."</p>

<p>"A hoax!" said Old Nick. "Well, so it is in a way,
but nobody'll know except you and me. All the
others will take it up as easy as winking. Only give
them a decent dinner, man, and they'll be ready
enough, all the lot of them; there's always room for a
bit of a spread of that sort, and we've had nothing
now for quite a while. No, all we've got to do now
is to get out the invitations first of all. Hand me the
pen and ink over there."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_150" id="Page_150" title="[Pg 150]"></a>
And the pair of them sat down and drew up the
following in due form:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="bqheading b0">"<span class="smcap">Invitation</span></p>

<p class="b0">"A Public Banquet will be given on Saturday, the
17th October 1887, at 4 p.m., at Naes's Hotel, to
celebrate the occasion of our esteemed fellow-citizen,
Warden Prois, completing his twenty-fifth year of
service on the Rates Committee. Menu will comprise
three courses, plus dessert and one half-bottle of wine,
coffee and liqueur, at 4s. per head.</p>

<div class="sigblockfloat">
"<span class="smcap">The Committee</span>.<br />
<div class="sigfloat">"<span class="smcap">Nickelsen</span>,<br />
<span class="l2"><span class="corr" title='removed: "'></span>Chairman.</span></div>
<div class="sigfloat"><span class="corr" title='added: "'>"</span><span class="smcap">Smith</span>,<br />
<span class="l2">Secretary."</span></div>
</div><br style="clear:both"/></div>

<p>As soon as Old Nick had finished the draft, a heated
discussion took place as to the price to be fixed per
head. Smith was of opinion that four shillings and
three courses was too little, and would appear mean
to the guest of honour. To this Old Nick retorted
that they could not well go higher than four shillings
if they were to get the "rank and file" to come
at all&mdash;this category including such personages as
Pettersen the watch-maker, Blomberg the tailor, and
other esteemed fellow-citizens, who would gladly
share in the honour, but were forced to consider the
limitations of their purse.</p>

<p>Smith also objected to the word "committee"
under the invitations. "We're not a committee,"
he urged.</p>

<p>"Aren't we, though," said Old Nick. "You and
I&mdash;that's committee enough for anything. And
besides, it's the proper thing on these occasions,
makes it look more official like." And so it was agreed<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span></p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_151" id="Page_151" title="[Pg 151]"></a>
Old Nick then set out on a round to gather in
recruits for the banquet. First of all the parson and
the doctor must be got hold of; these two agreed at
once without any difficulty, being comparatively new
arrivals in the place, and taking Lawyer Nickelsen's
recommendation as sufficient.</p>

<p>Next came Halvor Berg, the biggest shipowner in
the town, and known to all as a cautious and particular
man, much sought after by the natives in all matters
requiring assistance and advice. He was thus an
influential man, and it was important to get him to
subscribe, for the first thing people would ask was
sure to be, whether Halvor Berg was coming.</p>

<p>Old Nick and Halvor Berg were good friends, so the
reception in this case was good enough. They chatted
comfortably for a while, more especially about Berg's
boats, the <i>Seaflower</i>, <i>Ceres</i>, and so on, until Old Nick
suddenly produced his list. "Oh, by the way, I
want your name to this, Halvor. I ought by right to
have taken it round to the old magistrate first, he's
waiting for it, but it won't matter if you sign now
while I'm here."</p>

<p>"Sign?" said Halvor Berg, and proceeded to study
the document with great earnestness. Old Nick
occupied himself meantime in surreptitiously setting
the pointer of Halvor Berg's barometer down to
hurricane level.</p>

<p>At last, having ploughed his way conscientiously
through the invitation, Berg looked up, with a searching
glance at Old Nick, who faced him without moving
a muscle.</p>

<p>"H'm. H'mmm&mdash;look here, you know, Nickelsen,
don't you think we could find some one else to give
a banquet for instead of Prois?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_152" id="Page_152" title="[Pg 152]"></a>
"Well, no, I can't see that we could. I don't know
anyone else that's been on the Rates Committee for
twenty-five years."</p>

<p>"He'd have been more use to the place if he hadn't
been on it at all," grumbled the other.</p>

<p>"Oh, well, if you don't feel inclined to join with
the leading people in the town on such an occasion,
why...." Old Nick began folding up the list, but
very slowly.</p>

<p>"Of course I'll come in&mdash;only I can't see what he's
done to deserve it, hang me if I can."</p>

<p>"Look here, Halvor Berg, you can surely understand
that when the parson, the doctor and myself go
in for a thing like this, we've some reason for it."</p>

<p>"All right, all right! Hand me the list, then."</p>

<p>And he wrote with big, sprawling letters "H. Berg,"
at the same time inquiring whether an after-dinner
toddy was included in the four shillings.</p>

<p>On leaving Halvor Berg's, Old Nick regarded the
matter as settled; when this cautious old card had
put his name, the rest of them would soon follow
after.</p>

<p>Sukkestad, the dealer, was inclined to hesitate, and
could not make out what Prois had really done either,
but since Halvor Berg was in it, why, he might as well
put down his four shillings too.</p>

<p>Apothecary Peters, who had only been a week in
the place, was most grateful for the honour done him
in inviting him to be present, and insisted on paying
down his four shillings on the spot&mdash;at which Old Nick
was incautious enough to remark that it was not wise
to skin your beast before you'd killed him&mdash;Old Prois
being the beast.</p>

<p>The rest followed as one man, and by the evening<a class="pagenum" name="Page_153" id="Page_153" title="[Pg 153]"></a>
the list counted over sixty names, from all classes of
society. Even old Klementsen, who had been parish
clerk for fifty years, without getting so much as a silver
spoon for his trouble, set down his name with a smile,
albeit with an inward gnashing of teeth.</p>

<p>Thor Smith sat up in the magistrate's office, sweating
over a taxation case. In the inner office was the old
magistrate himself, with his wig awry, smoking his
coarse-cut tobacco.</p>

<p>"Filthy hole of a place this is," soliloquised Smith.
"Hang me if it isn't enough to make a man weep. I
wonder how Old Nick's getting on with that list now?
Oh, it's no good, I know; things never do go right."
He glanced out of the window and up along the street,
in case Old Nick might be coming along.</p>

<p>But&mdash;what on earth&mdash;a green tartan frock, and a
toque with a white feather&mdash;she herself! He placed
himself in the window, as if by accident&mdash;aha, she
catches sight of him. And such a blush&mdash;and then
she looks down. Won't she look up again? Yes,
just once.</p>

<p>A smile of understanding, and she hurries away, as
if from some deed of guilt. Thor Smith flattened his
nose against the pane, staring after her as long as he
could still see a thread of the green skirt, and for some
time after.</p>

<p>He was awakened from his reverie by the magistrate
himself, who came up behind and looked over his
shoulder inquisitively.</p>

<p>"Well, and what are we looking out at, eh?"</p>

<p>"Oh, only those two funny old women over in the
woollen shop; I never saw such queer things as they
are."</p>

<p>"Nothing to look at in them that I can see," said<a class="pagenum" name="Page_154" id="Page_154" title="[Pg 154]"></a>
the magistrate, who was by no means a woman-hater.
And, taking his hat and stick, he bustled out.</p>

<p>A moment later Old Nick entered, flushed and out
of breath. "Old man in?"&mdash;"No."&mdash;"Good!" He
flung himself down in a chair and handed the list
across to Smith.</p>

<p>"Puh! Devil take it, but this is hard work. And
all for you and your lady-love. You don't deserve
it."</p>

<p>Smith took the list and began counting the names.
"Seventy-two&mdash;why, that's splendid, Nickelsen; you're
a trump."</p>

<p>"Yes; don't you think I deserve a medal for it,
what? Oh, by the way, though, we must hurry up
and get hold of Prois himself now, or we'll have somebody
else telling him all about it beforehand."</p>

<p>The esteemed fellow-citizen was busy down at the
waterside, with a big pile-driver repairing the landing-stage.
The men hauled at the ropes, while he stood
by, calling the time in approved sing-song: "And one
ohoy, and two ohoy, and three...." he stopped short
at sight of Smith and Nickelsen approaching. He
looked by no means pleased as he handed over command
to Pilot Iversen, and told him to carry on with the
pile-driving.</p>

<p>Tulla Prois was in the kitchen, making fish-balls;
but on seeing the three men enter in solemn procession,
she ran off in a fright to the attic, hid herself
in a corner and burst out crying violently; evidently
the matter was to be decided now once and for all.
"Oh, it's mean of Thor," she murmured. "Why
couldn't he wait till father was in a better temper?"</p>

<p>Meanwhile, Old Prois was wondering what on earth
the two men could want with him.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_155" id="Page_155" title="[Pg 155]"></a>
He did not even glance at Smith, but when they
got inside, invited them both to sit down.</p>

<p>Old Nick settled himself on a big birchwood sofa,
with soft springs, into which he sank about half a foot
deep. Above the sofa hung a picture of the "Cupid"
(Captain Prois), with the port of Hull in the background,
and all the seamen wearing stovepipe hats.</p>

<p>Old Nick cleared his throat a little, and started off
with his introduction, pointing out the meritorious
work of his host on the committee during the "considerable
span of years" which he had devoted to the
service of the community.</p>

<p>Prois sat dumbfounded, at a loss to understand what
was coming.</p>

<p>At last, thinking he had sufficiently stimulated the
other's curiosity, Old Nick came to the point:</p>

<p>"Consequently, and, I should add, chiefly at the
instigation of my friend Smith, as secretary of the
said committee, our fellow-citizens have empowered
us to request the honour of your presence, my dear
Warden, at a ceremonial banquet, to take place on
Saturday next at 4 p.m., where we may hope to&mdash;er&mdash;find
some suitable expression for our feelings&mdash;er, h'm&mdash;our
appreciation of the fact that you have been for
twenty-five years so closely associated with this important&mdash;this
<em>most</em> important of our local institutions."</p>

<p>Old Prois flushed slightly, tried to look unmoved,
coughed, and finally requested the pair to "take a
seat"&mdash;which they had already taken&mdash;and then
rushed out into the passage calling in a voice of
thunder for "Tulla, Tulla!" Then out to the kitchen,
to send the maid to find her.</p>

<p>Meantime Old Nick sat stuffing an embroidered
antimacassar into his mouth, laughing till the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_156" id="Page_156" title="[Pg 156]"></a>
cushioned sofa and the picture above shook in dismay.
He made faces at Smith, who, however, was not in
the mood to appreciate the humour of the situation,
which fact seemed further to increase Old Nick's
amusement.</p>

<p>At last came a voice outside&mdash;"Where the deuce
have you been, child? Hurry up and bring in some
cakes and wine at once." Old Nick threw the antimacassar
under the sofa, and his face resumed its
most serious expression.</p>

<p>"Excuse my running off a moment, gentlemen, but
I&mdash;er&mdash;you must allow me to offer you a glass of wine,
with my best thanks for the invitation. I&mdash;er&mdash;really,
it's too good of you, I must say. I'm sure I haven't
done anything special for the place, but&mdash;well, since
my esteemed fellow-citizens are good enough to think
so, why...."</p>

<p>"I'm sure, Warden, your work has been most
arduous and most valuable," said Smith, "and as
secretary myself, you must allow me to judge." He
spoke with some warmth, hearing Tulla approaching
with the wine&mdash;and indeed the girl was trembling
to such a degree that the glasses rang like a peal of
bells.</p>

<p>Smith greeted her somewhat bashfully as she entered,
but Old Nick chucked her under the chin in his
superior paternal manner, and asked how she had got
on at the dance. Thor Smith nudged his friend <a class="corr" name="TC_5" id="TC_5" title="surreptitously">surreptitiously</a>
as a sign to him that the subject was one
better left alone.</p>

<p>Old Prois poured out the wine, expressing his
thanks for the honour anew, and drank a glass in the
kindliest manner with Smith, the latter flushing with
pleasure. Tulla stood over by the piano, intently<a class="pagenum" name="Page_157" id="Page_157" title="[Pg 157]"></a>
occupied in putting her music in order, and wondering
what on earth it all meant.</p>

<p>Old Nick was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing,
under cover of which he managed to empty his glass
of Muscatel into a flower-pot by the window. Then,
catching sight of a hen crossing the courtyard, he
developed an enthusiastic interest in Black Minorcas
and White Leghorns. Prois, it should be mentioned,
was a keen fowl-fancier, and had a whole collection of
prize medals from various exhibitions, of which he was
particularly proud.</p>

<p>Naturally enough, then, Old Nick had to be shown
the fowl-runs, though until that date his fondness for
the tribe had been exclusively confined to the table.
He and his host accordingly went out together.</p>

<p>This left Thor Smith and his Tulla alone, blessing
the Black Minorcas and the White Leghorns impartially,
and not forgetting Old Nick; while for the rest,
they utilised the opportunity just as other sensible
young people in love would, to wit, by settling down
in the big sofa and exchanging kisses under the
"Cupid," while the men down at the landing-stage
chanted their "one ahoy, and two ahoy, and three...."
The pile-driver had got to sixteen when they
heard Old Nick's voice outside: "Yes, those white-cheeked
Leghorns are splendid, really splendid."</p>

<p>And Thor Smith and his Tulla judged it best to wake
up from love's young dream.</p>

<p>The Banquet was a magnificent success; Thor
Smith's speech for the guest of honour's family being
particularly notable for the warmth and earnestness
with which it was delivered.</p>

<p>Dessert and the half-bottle of sherry having been
disposed of, the general feeling, which had been somewhat<a class="pagenum" name="Page_158" id="Page_158" title="[Pg 158]"></a>
dull at first, grew more jovial, and speeches were
numerous. The coffee and liqueurs brought the
diners to the stage of embraces and assurances of
mutual affection. Even Rod and Hansen, the two
shipbrokers, who in the ordinary way hated one
another cordially whenever one closed a charter more
than the other, might be seen drinking together, and
assuring all concerned that never were business competitors
on friendlier terms. Here's luck, Rod, and
Cheer-oh, Hansen!</p>

<p>Smith and Warden Prois became quite friendly,
not to say intimate, in the course of the evening;
they sat a little apart, in animated discussion of something
or other, but apparently on the best of terms.
And they finished up towards morning by drinking
eternal brotherhood and embracing each
other.</p>

<p>The guest of honour was escorted to his home by
such members of the party as were still able to keep
their feet; and Old Nick, in a farewell speech, expressed
the wish that he, the Warden, might long
retain the memory of that evening in his head, which
charitable sentiment was greeted with delighted
applause.</p>

<p>A week after that memorable occasion Thor Smith
went round to the Warden's, and presented himself
in due form as a suitor for the hand of Miss Tulla.</p>

<p>He had previously arranged with Old Nick, whom
he had visited on the way down, that if all went as
he wished, and the matter was settled at once, he would
wave a handkerchief from the garden steps, so that
Nickelsen, on the look-out at his corner window, would
see, with a glass, the result of the suit.</p>

<p>Scarcely had Old Nick arrived at his post, glass in<a class="pagenum" name="Page_159" id="Page_159" title="[Pg 159]"></a>
hand, when lo, not one, but two handkerchiefs waved
from the Warden's garden.</p>

<p>He walked up and down the room, rubbing his hands
in keen gratification, but turned suddenly serious, and
murmured to himself: "Ay, they're the lucky ones,
that don't have to go through life alone. Well, thank
Heaven, I've never been given to grieving over things
myself, and that's a blessing, anyhow." He lit a
cigar, and the passing cloud was wafted away as usual
by his inherent good humour.</p>

<p>"Oh, I can't wait any longer; I must go round and
be the first to offer congratulations." And off went
Old Nick, hurrying down the street to the Warden's.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_160" id="Page_160" title="[Pg 160]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII<br />
CILIA</h2>


<p>"The one who eats most porridge, gets most
meat," said Cilia Braaten, ladling out a
large second helping for Abrahamsen, the
mate, who innocently accepted.</p>

<p>"No more for me, thanks," said Soren Braaten.
He knew his wife's economical trick of getting her
guests to eat so much of the first course that they had
little cargo space left for the second.</p>

<p>Cilia Braaten was a woman who could hold her own,
and was regarded as one of the cleverest shipowners
on the fjord, closing charters herself, with or without
a broker.</p>

<p>Cecilia was her proper name, but she was invariably
called Cilia for short.</p>

<p>Soren Braaten, her husband, was hardly ever referred
to at all, his wife having charge of everything that
mattered, including the chartering of the two vessels
<i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i> and <i>Apollo</i>&mdash;and Heaven help Soren if
he failed to obey orders and sail as instructed by
Madam Cilia.</p>

<p>Soren was a kindly and genial soul, who would not
hurt a fly as long as he was left to sail his <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>
in peace. True, he would grumble once in a while,
when his wife seemed more than usually unreasonable,
and throw out hints that he knew what he was about,
and could manage things by himself.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_161" id="Page_161" title="[Pg 161]"></a>
"Manage, indeed. A nice sort of managing it would
be! What about that time when you fixed <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>
for a cargo of coals to the Limfjord, where there's
only ten foot of water, and she draws nineteen? If I
hadn't come and got you out of it, you'd have been
stranded there now." And Cilia threw a glance of
indignant superiority at Soren. The story of that
Limfjord charter was her trump card, and never failed
to quell Soren's faint attempts at retort.</p>

<p>Altogether, Cilia was unquestionably ruler of the
roost, and managed things as she pleased, not only as
regards Soren and the two ships, but also Malvina, the
only daughter, who, like the rest, obeyed her without
demur.</p>

<p>Soren had no reason to regret having given the
administration of the household and the business into
her care; for their fortunes throve steadily, and Cilia
was, as mentioned, one of the smartest shipowners
in the fjord. She invariably managed to get hold of
the best freights going; the shipbrokers at Drammen
seemed by tacit consent to give her the first refusal
of anything good.</p>

<p>All, then, seemed well as could be wished with the
family as a whole, and one would have thought Cilia
herself must be content with things as they were.
This, however, was by no means the case; Cilia had
troubles enough, though, as so often happens, they
were largely of her own making.</p>

<p>Soren's complete lack of tender feeling was one of
the things that often worried her. It was particularly
noticeable in his letters. He would write, for instance,
in this style:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><a class="pagenum" name="Page_162" id="Page_162" title="[Pg 162]"></a>
<p class="b0">"<span class="smcap">Madam Cilia Braaten</span>,&mdash;Arrived here in London
fourteen days out from the Sound. All well, and now
discharging cargo. Have drawn £120 from the agents
here, which please find enclosed. I await instructions
as to further movements, and beg to remain&mdash;Yours
very truly,</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">S. Braaten</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>Cilia flung the letter in a drawer and raged. Was
this love? The simpleton&mdash;he should have been left
to manage things for himself&mdash;and where would he
have been then? This was all the thanks one got for
all the toil and trouble. Why couldn't he write letters
like Mrs. Pedersen got from her husband, who was
skipper of the <i>Vestalinde</i>, commencing "My darling
wife," and ending up with "Ever your loving&mdash;"
That was something like affection! A very different
thing from Soren's "Yours very truly." Mrs. Cilia was
bursting with indignation.</p>

<p>She pondered the matter for some time, seeking to
find a way of making Soren a little more demonstrative.
And next time she wrote, she put it to him delicately,
as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="b0">"<span class="smcap">My dearest Husband</span>,&mdash;I was very glad to receive
your letter with the £120, but sorry you say nothing
about how you are yourself. I often think affectionately
of you, but there is a coolness about your letters which
makes me quite unhappy to think of. You know I
love you, and you know, too, how sorry I am to have
to send you up into the Baltic so late in the year, but
the freight was so good that I could not refuse it. Put
on warm things, and see you have plenty of good food
on board, and if you make a good voyage of it this
time I hope to have another nice remittance from you<a class="pagenum" name="Page_163" id="Page_163" title="[Pg 163]"></a>
before Christmas. And do let us agree for the future
to sign our letters&mdash;'<i>Ever your loving</i>'</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Cilia Braaten</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>The result of this appeal to Soren's tender feelings
was not long delayed. It happened that Gudmunsen,
skipper of the <i>Apollo</i>, while in Christiania with a cargo
of coal, went on the spree there to such an all-obliterating
extent that Mrs. Cilia received no accounts, and
no freight money. She therefore wrote to Soren, who
was in London, asking him to cable by return what
was to be done with Gudmunsen. The reply came
back as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="b0">"Chuck him out.&mdash;Ever your loving</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Soren Braaten</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>And thenceforward his letters and telegrams were
invariably signed "Ever your loving."</p>

<p>When Soren came home late that autumn, Cilia
thought he might fairly have a year ashore, as they
had laid by a good deal, and could afford a rest. Soren
grumbled a little, and suggested that it would be desperately
dull hanging about on shore all the summer,
but Cilia undertook to find him entertainment enough.
"We've all that bit of ground down there to plant
potatoes, then the house wants painting, and a new
garden fence&mdash;oh yes, and we ought really to have
another well dug round at the back, and&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>Soren had visions of Cilia standing over him and
ordering him about at these various tasks, while he
toiled in the sweat of his brow. Oh, a nice sort of
rest it would be! No, give him his old place on board,
where he could do as he pleased.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_164" id="Page_164" title="[Pg 164]"></a>
There was no help for it, however. Abrahamsen,
the mate, was put in charge of <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i> that
summer, and Soren had to stay at home.</p>

<p>Soren Braaten had never had any social position
to speak of in Strandvik, and indeed he had no wish
for anything of the sort. His comrades at the Seamen's
Union were good enough company for him. It was
different with Cilia, however; as their means increased,
she began to feel more and more aggrieved
at never being asked to parties at Holm Berg's or Prois's,
and as for the Magistrate's folk, they never so much
as gave her a glance when she passed them in the
street. And only the other day she had met that
impertinent upstart, Lawyer Nickelsen; if he hadn't
dared to address her simply as "Celia!" Oh, but
she would show them! And she went over her plan&mdash;it
was to be carried out this summer, while Soren
was at home. Soren was to be renamed, and appear
henceforward as Soren Braathen&mdash;with an "h,"
Shipowner. Malvina was to be a lady, and, if possible,
married off to some young man of standing. Then,
surely, the family would be able to take the rank
and position in society to which their comfortable
means entitled them.</p>

<p>While Cilia was occupied with these reflections in
the kitchen&mdash;it was the day <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i> was to sail&mdash;Abrahamsen
and Malvina were sitting in the summer-house
in an attitude eloquent of itself. To be precise,
they were holding each other's hands.</p>

<p>"It's none so easy for me, Malvina," the mate was
saying, "as a common man, to ask your father and
mother straight out&mdash;and there's no such desperate
hurry as I can see till after this voyage."</p>

<p>With him Malvina agreed, and the loving couple<a class="pagenum" name="Page_165" id="Page_165" title="[Pg 165]"></a>
separated, not without mutual assurances of undying
faith and affection for better or worse, whatever
obstacles might be placed in their way.</p>

<p>Meantime, Soren Braaten had stolen down to the
cellar, where he had a carefully hoarded stock of
English bottled stout, with which he was wont to
refresh himself at odd moments. Seated on a barrel,
he was enjoying the blessing of life and liquor in deep
draughts, without a care in the world. True, he had
seen through the skylight Malvina and the mate in
what might be construed as a compromising position,
but trusting in this as in all else to Cilia's management,
he took it for granted that she was a party to
the affair.</p>

<p><i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i> sailed, and Abrahamsen with her,
leaving Soren at home to his fate. The potato-planting
was shelved for the time being, as were the
various other little jobs Cilia had mentioned; her
one idea now was that he should appear as a gentleman
of leisure, which Soren was unfeignedly content to do.
In order, however, that he should not find the life
too monotonous, she found him an occupation which
to her idea was not incompatible with the dignity of
a shipowner he was to look after Fagerlin. Fagerlin
was the big brindled cow, and at present, being summertime,
was allowed to take the air in the garden.
Soren was accordingly charged to see that Fagerlin
behaved herself, and did not eat up the carrots or
the tiger lilies. Soren found the work comparable
to that of the local customs officer, consisting as it
did for the most part in sitting on a bench and smoking,
with back numbers of the <i>Shipping Gazette</i> to while
away the time.</p>

<p>Cilia, however, was still constantly occupied in<a class="pagenum" name="Page_166" id="Page_166" title="[Pg 166]"></a>
finding further means whereby the family might
attain that position of importance and consideration
in local society which, she was forced to admit, was
lacking at present.</p>

<p>In this she found an unexpected ally in the person
of Lieutenant Heidt, the magistrate's son, an old
acquaintance from the days when Cilia had been
parlourmaid at the house. True, he had been but a
little boy at the time, but they had never quite lost
sight of each other, and had grown most intimate,
especially of late, since Cilia had taken to lending him
money, in secret.</p>

<p>Lt. Heidt was of opinion that Soren ought
to go off to some health resort; it was customary
among people of the better class, he declared, to suffer
from gout, or insomnia, or some such fashionable
ailment, necessitating a few weeks' cure at one of the
recognised establishments every summer. "And they
put it in the papers, you know, who's there; it would
look quite nice, say, in the <i>Morning News</i>, to see
Shipowner Braathen, of Strandvik, was recuperating
at So-and-so."</p>

<p>Cilia found the suggestion excellent, and began
hinting to Soren that he was suffering from sleeplessness
and gout. Soren was astounded, and indeed
was disposed to regard the insinuation of sleeplessness
as a piece of sarcasm, in view of the fact that he
regularly took a couple of hours' nap each day irrespective
of his customary ten hours at night. His
protests, however, were in vain; he must go to Sandefjord,
whether he liked it or not.</p>

<p>A brand new trunk with a brass plate, inscribed
with the name and title of "Shipowner S. Braathen,
Strandvik," was procured for the occasion, and Soren<a class="pagenum" name="Page_167" id="Page_167" title="[Pg 167]"></a>
was escorted in full procession down to the boat, and
packed off to Sandefjord. Before leaving, he had
been given careful instructions by his better half as
to behaving in a manner suited to his station, and
also furnished with a well-lined pocket-book. This
last was so unlike Cilia that Soren wondered what on
earth had come to her: open-handedness in money
matters had never been a failing of hers&mdash;far from it.</p>

<p>Lt. Heidt and Cilia had further discussed the question
as to whether Malvina ought not to be sent to
some <em>pension</em> abroad, or at least to stay with a
clergyman's family, for instance, somewhere in the
country. This plan, however, was upset by Malvina's
opposition. She flatly refused to do anything of the
sort; and as the girl had inherited a good half at
least of her mother's obstinacy, Cilia realised that it
was hopeless to persist.</p>

<p>During Soren's absence, Lt. Heidt suggested that
it would be well to use the opportunity and refurnish
the house completely, for, as he said, it would never
do for people in such a position as the Braathens to
have a "parlour" suite consisting of four birchwood
chairs without springs and that horrible plaster-of-Paris
angel that had knelt for the past twenty years
on the embroidery-fringed bracket&mdash;it was enough
to frighten decent people out of the house! Cilia
entirely agreed, and only wondered how it was she
herself had never perceived it before; this, of course,
was the reason they had had no suitable society.
But she would change all that. Malvina was highly
indignant when she heard of the proposed resolution.
The parlour was quite nice as it was, to her mind,
and as for the angel, her father had given it to her
when she was a child, and it did not harm anyone;<a class="pagenum" name="Page_168" id="Page_168" title="[Pg 168]"></a>
on the contrary, she loved her angel, and would take
care it came to no hurt.</p>

<p>Lt. Heidt very kindly offered to go in to Christiania
with Mrs. Cilia and help her choose the furniture;
would indeed be delighted to assist in any way with
the general rearrangement of the Braathen's <i lang="fr">ménage</i>.
Cilia gratefully accepted, and the pair went off accordingly
to the capital, duly furnished with the requisite
funds, which Cilia had drawn from the bank for the
occasion. On the way, she begged her companion to
take charge of the money and act as treasurer; she
had heard that pickpockets devoted their attention
more especially to ladies.</p>

<p>On arrival, Heidt suggested dining at a first-class
restaurant which he himself frequented, and meeting
on the way there two young gentlemen of his acquaintance,
he introduced them to Mrs. Braathen, and
invited them without further ceremony to join the
party. They were frank, easy-mannered young
fellows, and Cilia took a fancy to them, at once recognising
them as belonging to "the quality."</p>

<p>And such a dinner they had! Oysters and champagne
to start with, game of some sort, and claret&mdash;it
was a banquet to eclipse even the betrothal feast at
Prois's; to which last, it is true, she had not been
invited&mdash;but he should repent it, the supercilious old
sweep!</p>

<p>Heidt's friends, too, proved most entertaining
company, especially the one who, it appeared, was a
poet; he had a store of anecdotes to make one split
one's sides with laughing, and Heidt himself was in
high spirits. He drank with her, and said, "Your
health, mother-in-law," and the others joined in with
congratulations. Cilia could not help laughing, though<a class="pagenum" name="Page_169" id="Page_169" title="[Pg 169]"></a>
she was inclined to consider it rather too much of a
joke. Still, it was all done in such a jovial, irresistible
fashion that she let it pass.</p>

<p>After the coffee, the whole party set out to make
purchases. First, glassware. Heidt thought it was a
good idea to begin with glasses after dinner; one was
more in the mood for it, he declared. An elegant
service of cut-glass, with the monogram "S. &amp; C. B."
was ordered. Cilia hesitated a little at the delicate,
slender-stemmed wine-glasses, which she declared
would "go to smithereens" in a "twinkling" at the first
washing-up, but was assured that this was the essence
of good taste in such matters, and finally gave in.</p>

<p>Then came the furniture for the "salon" as Heidt
called it. But when Cilia found herself tentatively
seated on a sofa with a hard, straight back reaching
half-way up the wall, she could not help thinking that
the old one at home was really more comfortable; a
thing like this seemed made to sit upright in, and as
for lying down&mdash;&mdash;! The others, however, declared
it elegant and "stylish," with which she felt she must
agree, and the sofa was accordingly noted. Various
so-called "easy-chairs," which to Cilia's mind were
far from easy, were then added. A round settee with
a pillar rising from the centre was to crown the whole.
Cilia had never seen such an arrangement before, and
was rather inclined to leave it out. But the dealer
explained, "You place the article in the centre of the
apartment, under a chandelier. A palm is set on the
central pillar&mdash;and there you are!"</p>

<p>"Wouldn't a nice geranium do instead?" asked
Cilia confidentially.</p>

<p>"Well&mdash;ah&mdash;oh, certainly, yes," said the man, and
Cilia agreed.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_170" id="Page_170" title="[Pg 170]"></a>
"Then there are works of art," said Heidt. "No
truly cultured home can be without them." And he
invited Cilia to contemplate a life-size terra-cotta
Cupid. It was terribly expensive, and she did not
really approve of "stark-naked boys" as a decorative
motif, but Heidt and his friends agreed that it was a
"triumph of plastic beauty," and a work of art such
as no one in Strandvik had ever seen, far less possessed.
And Cilia took the Cupid with the rest.</p>

<p>"Now we're all complete," said Heidt, "and I'll
answer for it, a more recherché little interior than
Shipowner Braathen's it will be hard to find." And
Cilia saw in her mind's eye Lawyer Nickelsen and the
Magistrate himself abashed and humbled before all
this magnificence.</p>

<p>As for Prois and Holm Berg&mdash;poor things, they had
never dreamt of anything like it.</p>

<p>When they got home, Cilia could not help feeling
that it had been rather a costly outing&mdash;but what
matter? The vessels were earning good money.</p>

<p>There was a letter from Soren, giving his impressions
of Sandefjord.</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">Mrs. Cilia Braathen, my dear Wife</span>,&mdash;I write
this to let you know I have now had fourteen sulphur
baths, kinder being thumped and hammered every
morning from nine to ten, then breakfast, and about
time too, seeing I have to drink five glasses of sulphur
water and one of salts on an empty stomach.</p>

<p>"In accordance with your instructions, I have duly
informed the doctor here that I am in need of insomnia,
which he assures me will improve with continued
treatment.</p>

<p class="b0">"There are any amount of people here on the same<a class="pagenum" name="Page_171" id="Page_171" title="[Pg 171]"></a>
business, Danes and Swedes too, and all seem to be
enjoying it like anything, which is more than I can
understand. There's a band plays here all day, but
the days seem to go very slowly all the same. Take
care of yourself till I come back.&mdash;Ever your loving</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">S. Braathen</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>Malvina, too, had a letter from her father:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Daughter</span>,&mdash;Your letter was a great
comfort to me in this place, which the same I would
liken unto Sodom and Gomorrah, not only for the
sulphur and brimstone but other things beside.</p>

<p>"It was no surprise to me when you say you are in
love with Abrahamsen, seeing I was watching you
holding hands with him that day in the summer-house.</p>

<p>"I give you my blessing and welcome, which please
find herewith. He's not much of an expert, as you
might say, in navigation, looking all ways round for
the sun, but with God's help I dare say you'll be able
to manage him. And as for your mother, you'll just
have to square it with her the best you can, which is
more than I ever could myself.</p>

<p>"I am getting on famously here all round, all except
the insomnia, which I haven't been able to manage
up to now. I still get my night's rest and my afternoon
nap, for all their nasty waters inside and out. But
don't tell your mother I said so, but let her think I'm
getting on that way.</p>

<p class="b0">"Don't forget to write and let me know how she is
and all that's doing.&mdash;Yours respectfully,</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">S. Braathen</span>.</p>

<p>"P.S.&mdash;What you say about Lieutenant Heidt has<a class="pagenum" name="Page_172" id="Page_172" title="[Pg 172]"></a>
written you a love-letter, don't worry about that, but
sufficient unto the day and so on. You can tell him
you could never love anybody that hadn't got his
mate's certificate, which I'm pretty sure he hasn't
nor ever likely to be."</p></div>

<p>Cilia had a desperately busy time unpacking all the
things from Christiania, but, thanks to Lt. Heidt, who
was always at hand ready to help, the work was soon
got over.</p>

<p>The house was changed beyond all recognition.
<em>Now</em> let the Prois's and Lawyer Nickelsen come, and
see what they'd say! Lt. Heidt came round every
day now, and was so attentive to Malvina that Cilia
felt all but sure of him already for a son-in-law, and
reproved her daughter severely for being so "stand-offish"
with him. But Malvina, remembering who
was primarily responsible for the deposition of her
plaster angel, and the substitution of a stark-naked
boy, found it impossible to regard the culprit with
anything but marked disfavour.</p>

<p>Never was Cupid looked upon so sourly by the
fairer sex. Cilia, it is true, had gradually brought
herself to look him straight in the face when she
entered the room, instead of turning aside, but Malvina
still flushed and averted her eyes. The angel at least
was decent; no one need be ashamed of that!</p>

<p>At last everything was in order, and Cilia was able
to look round proudly on an establishment fitted for
persons of "quality." Hitherto it had always been
her custom to go bareheaded within doors; now,
however, she adopted a dainty white cap with a
cluster of dark red auriculas on top, as befitted a lady
of means and position.</p>

<p>When Soren came home, the first thing she did was<a class="pagenum" name="Page_173" id="Page_173" title="[Pg 173]"></a>
to usher him into the drawing-room with a triumphant
gesture. There! what did he think of that?</p>

<p>Soren stood for a moment dumbfounded, and when
at last Cilia invited him to sit down, he took out his
handkerchief, spread it out carefully on the settee,
and seated himself gingerly, glancing up now and
again at the geranium, as if fearing it might fall on
his head.</p>

<p>At the first opportunity he went off with Malvina
to the wash-house, where the two had a long confabulation,
the end of which was a solemn declaration on the
part of Soren to the effect that his spouse must be "a
trifle wrong in the upper works." And he swore that
she had far more need of the Sandefjord waters than
he had ever had.</p>

<p>Cilia, of course, must give a party to show off the
establishment in its new finery. Invitations were sent
out on printed cards a week beforehand, the list
including Heidts, Prois's and Lawyer Nickelsen.
Cilia had really half a mind to "leave out all that
haughty lot," but if she did, where would the leaders
of society be at all?</p>

<p>Soren was ordered to get himself a tail coat for the
occasion. It was his duty as host, Cilia said. But
for the first time in his life Soren refused to obey,
and that so emphatically that his wife was startled.
"If you and all the rest of them can't have me in my
Sunday coat as it is, why, well and good&mdash;I'll go out
fishing that day and you can have it all to yourselves."
With which mutinous declaration Soren went out
into the kitchen and confided to Malvina that he'd
"had about enough of all this nonsense." Malvina
cordially agreed, and did her best to keep him in that
frame of mind.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_174" id="Page_174" title="[Pg 174]"></a>
Cilia pondered over the matter for some time; she
had never before known Soren to disregard her injunctions
in that fashion. But let him wait; she'd
give him "Sunday coat" with a vengeance once the
party was well over.</p>

<p>The first thing Abrahamsen learned when he returned
was news of the wonderful changes Cilia had made in
the house. "Fitted up like a palace," said old Holm
Berg. Then, too, of course, there were plenty of people
to tell him of Malvina's engagement to Lt. Heidt, and
how the latter had been round at the house "every
blessed day all through the summer." Consequently,
it was with heavy heart and ill-forebodings that the
mate set out to call. Fortunately, however, he found
Malvina alone in the front room, cleaning windows,
and was able to arrange a meeting with her in the
wash-house as soon as he had been in to deliver his
report to Cilia. This was soon effected, Cilia being
so occupied with preparations for the party that she
even forgot to ask how much of the freight money
was left.</p>

<p>Abrahamsen went down then to the wash-house,
where doubts and fears were soon disposed of, despite
the fact that the lovers' affectionate <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> was
interrupted by a violent rattling in the tub, where
Soren kept his bottled beer&mdash;the stout, alas, was gone
long since.</p>

<p>The wash-house cellar was, as Soren put it, his "free
port and patent breakwater" where he could anchor
in safety whenever the waves of domestic strife ran
over high.</p>

<p>A regular triple-alliance was now concluded between
Soren, Abrahamsen and Malvina to meet the treacherous
plottings of the two remaining powers: Cilia and Lt.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_175" id="Page_175" title="[Pg 175]"></a>
Heidt. The Congress of the wash-house agreed to
adopt and maintain an attitude of armed and watchful
neutrality for the present, only proceeding to open
hostilities in case of need, when concerted action would
be taken according as circumstances might require.</p>

<p>While this conference was taking place, Lt. Heidt,
who had arrived meantime, was closeted with Cilia
in long and earnest conversation, in the course of
which he declared that his intentions towards Malvina
were entirely honourable, and that it was his dearest
wish to become a son-in-law of the house.</p>

<p>The Lieutenant was all for an immediate decision,
the engagement then to be publicly declared on the
following day at the party. Cilia, however, foresaw
difficulties in effecting this: it would be necessary to
prepare Malvina gradually for the honour and happiness
in store for her. Finally, it was agreed that Cilia
should use her utmost efforts, and tackle Malvina
that same evening, get a satisfactory answer out of
her if possible, and then fire off the news at dinner
next day. The Lieutenant on his part was to hold
himself in readiness for immediate action at the
opportune moment. The pair then separated, with
assurances of mutual esteem and affection.</p>

<p>Cilia was so overwhelmed that she was obliged to
remain a full half-hour alone in the splendours of the
newly furnished salon, meditating upon the wonderful
good fortune that was about to fall upon the house.
A real lieutenant, and the magistrate's son to boot&mdash;an
alliance with the leading family in the town! Thus
was the name of Braathen to be lifted from the potato-patch
of vulgar insignificance to the gardens of rank
and "quality."</p>

<p>Abrahamsen, stealing out by by the back way, was<a class="pagenum" name="Page_176" id="Page_176" title="[Pg 176]"></a>
just in time to perceive Lt. Heidt taking leave of Cilia,
and noting the cordiality between the two, he realised
that there was rough weather ahead before he could
hope to lay alongside his dainty prize. He confided
as much to his intimate friend, Thor Smith, the magistrate's
clerk. The latter had an ancient grudge
against young Heidt, who had at one time made some
attempt at cutting him out with Tulla Prois, and that in
the basest manner, which Smith had never forgiven him.</p>

<p>But he should pay for it&mdash;Smith would see to that!</p>

<p>When Abrahamsen had set forth the position in
detail, Smith pressed his hand, and swore to aid him
by all means in his power. Here at last was a chance
of getting even with his rival.</p>

<p>That same evening Smith went round for a chat
with Old Nick, as he often did. On reaching the
house, however, the housekeeper informed him that
Nickelsen was engaged in the office&mdash;Skipper Braaten
was in there with him.</p>

<p>Smith pricked up his ears at this, and at once concluded
that the consultation must have something to
do with the matrimonial plans afoot in the skipper's
household.</p>

<p>He waited, therefore, and a little while later Nickelsen
entered, looking very thoughtful. His air, however,
changed to one of cautious reserve when Smith
greeted him with:</p>

<p>"Well, have you been through the Code of Matrimonial
Law with Soren Braaten?"</p>

<p>"What makes you think so?" said Nickelsen.</p>

<p>"My dear old Nick, don't try that on with me. I've
just heard about it from my particular friend Abrahamsen.
And I don't mind telling you I'm out to put the
brave Lieutenant's nose out of joint if I can."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_177" id="Page_177" title="[Pg 177]"></a>
"H'm&mdash;well, it's right enough. And as for the
Lieutenant, why, 'twould be easy enough. But Cilia's
a different matter, now she's got her head puffed up
with all this 'fashionable' nonsense. Old Soren
has fairly got his blood up this time though; he
wanted her declared unfit to act, and a legal guardian
appointed&mdash;what do you say to that?"</p>

<p>"Look here, Nickelsen, what if you and I put our
heads together and fixed it up ourselves for Malvina
and Abrahamsen?"</p>

<p>"Good Lord above us, what are you thinking of?
Do you want me to play <i lang="fr">postillon d'amour</i> for all the
loving couples in the town?"</p>

<p>"Well, it's a noble mission, you know, really. Just
think how Tulla and I look up to you with&mdash;er&mdash;with
affection and esteem&mdash;since that banquet affair."</p>

<p>"You can think yourself lucky it went off as well
as it did," said Old Nick.</p>

<p>"Oh&mdash;this'll come off all right too, you'll see. Come
along, let's set to work and draw up a plan of campaign.
We're getting quite old hands at the game."</p>

<p>Old Nick was not without some scruples, but after
further pressure he at last consented to give his support
as far as he could.</p>

<p>As a result of mature deliberation the following
scheme was drawn up, to be submitted to Soren
Braaten and Abrahamsen for consideration:</p>

<p>1. Soren to arrange that Thor Smith and Abrahamsen
be among the guests invited to the party.</p>

<p>2. Soren to say a few words of welcome to the guests
at table, whereupon Lawyer Nickelsen would make a
"flowing and eloquent" speech proposing the host
and hostess.</p>

<p>3. Immediately after this the grand scene, wherein<a class="pagenum" name="Page_178" id="Page_178" title="[Pg 178]"></a>
Soren Braaten, rising again, delivers a speech, prepared
beforehand by Nickelsen and Smith, announcing
Malvina's engagement to Abrahamsen.</p>

<p>This surprise attack, the conspirators reckoned,
could not fail to throw the enemy's forces into confusion.</p>

<p>Both, however, knowing Cilia's temper, her energy
and force of character, were agreed that the plan had
its weak points. She might, for instance, prefer to
make a scene rather than surrender unconditionally.
Nevertheless, both Smith and Old Nick thought she
would probably give way; and having regard to the
sound strategic principle that a purely defensive position
is generally untenable, they thought best to
urge the Triple Alliance to take the offensive at the
earliest opportunity.</p>

<p>No sooner said than done<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span> Soren and Abrahamsen
were sent for, and lost no time in making their appearance;
both had a feeling that great events were in
the air.</p>

<p>Meantime, the enemy was not inactive. The
Lieutenant, certain of victory, now that he had
secured so powerful an ally as Cilia, had already confided
his intentions to his father. The magistrate, in his
own mind, could not help thinking that a daughter of
his former parlourmaid was hardly a match for his son,
but on the other hand it might make a man of him.
And the Braatens were said to be quite wealthy people.
Malvina was the only child, so that from that point of
view, no objection could be raised. Finally, he declared
himself willing to give his consent, but, learning
that the engagement was to be formally announced
at dinner on the following day, he became serious, and
went down quietly to his office to prepare a speech<a class="pagenum" name="Page_179" id="Page_179" title="[Pg 179]"></a>
suited to the occasion. His consent to the marriage
was one thing, but he was resolved that it should not
lead to overmuch intimacy between the two families.
And this he was anxious to point out, with all possible
delicacy, of course, but definitely enough to permit of
no misunderstanding.</p>

<p>The party assembled at Old Nick's, including
Thor Smith, Abrahamsen and Soren Braaten, were
unanimous in declaring the proposed scheme admirable.
The only hesitation was on the part of Soren,
who, being himself cast for the leading part, naturally
felt the risk. The others, however, insisted that no
one else could do it, and he therefore agreed to sacrifice
himself in a forlorn hope for the general good.</p>

<p>On being handed the speech, carefully written out
by Old Nick himself, Soren scratched his head and
looked thoroughly miserable. He had never made a
speech in his life, and had no sort of confidence in his
declamatory powers. There was no help for it, however,
and with a sigh he thrust the paper into his
waistcoat pocket.</p>

<p>Before leaving he was instructed to make known
the details of the plan to Malvina, and charge her to
be as amiable as possible to Heidt, in order to avoid
any suspicion in the minds of the others as to the
conspiracy afoot.</p>

<p>On reaching home, he sought out Malvina and
explained the situation, whereafter the two in concert
managed to get Cilia to invite Thor Smith and
Abrahamsen at the eleventh hour; Cilia herself, as
far as could be seen, had no suspicion of any covert
motive underlying the request.</p>

<p>Nearly all that night Soren sat up in his bedroom
brooding over the speech. "Gentlemen and&mdash;er&mdash;h'm&mdash;I<a class="pagenum" name="Page_180" id="Page_180" title="[Pg 180]"></a>
should say ladies and gentlemen&mdash;er&mdash;I rise
to this&mdash;I rise on this occasion ..." etc. Soren
toiled at the speech, sweating properly, and cursing
at intervals, till nearly morning. And when at last
he fell asleep, it was only to dream that Old Nick
stood over him, tweaking his nose with the fire-tongs,
while he strove in vain to get beyond the opening
sentence of his oration.</p>

<p>He awoke, however, in excellent spirits, and ceased
to worry about the speech at all, arguing to himself
that it would come off all right once he got going.
He ran up the flag with his own hands, and meeting
Cilia in the kitchen as he came in, he chucked her
under the chin with a cheerful: "Well, old lady,
feeling fit?" Whereat Cilia was considerably taken
aback, being all unused to such attentions.</p>

<p>There was great excitement in the town as to how
the much-talked-of party would go off, and, long before
the appointed hour, the garden fence was lined outside
by the youth of the neighbourhood, awaiting
the arrival of the guests.</p>

<p>"There's Holm Berg, boys, stovepipe and all&mdash;and
here's the Lieutenant with his pig-sticker&mdash;and
look at Old Nick in his white gloves, and walking like
he was on stilts&mdash;hurraa&mdash;a&mdash;a!"</p>

<p>The house was brilliantly illuminated and looked
very festive indeed; so overwhelming was the display
that most of the natives stole away into odd corners
where they could see as much as possible without
being seen. Lt. Heidt was thoroughly at home, and
helped to look after the guests, though this, indeed,
was superfluous, Soren himself exhibiting so much
sangfroid and confidence of manner that he might
have been on board his own vessel and in sole command.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_181" id="Page_181" title="[Pg 181]"></a>
He shook hands with each as they arrived, and bade
them welcome with smiling self-possession. Cilia
hardly knew him in this new guise as master of the
house, and a shiver of excitement thrilled her as
she thought of the developments in store. She had,
indeed, sufficient reason for anxiety, inasmuch as she
had had a serious talk with Malvina just before the
guests arrived, endeavouring to extract from her a
promise to give a favourable answer to Lt. Heidt.
But there was no getting anything definite out of
Malvina; she demanded time to think it over.</p>

<p>The first slight stiffness among the guests soon
disappeared, and, by the time dinner was served,
most of them felt quite sufficiently at home to do full
justice to an excellent repast.</p>

<p>There were to be no speeches until dessert, and now
the fateful moment was near.</p>

<p>Malvina was in a corner with Lt. Heidt, the latter
so tender and smiling that old Mrs. Berg nudged the
parson's wife and whispered, "Look, I'm sure he's
proposing now!" The lady addressed, however, was
somewhat deaf, and looked up with an inquiring
"Eh?" Mrs. Berg did not venture to repeat the
observation out loud, and substituted a remark about
"the jelly delicious, don't you think?"</p>

<p>Malvina turned pale and red alternately with
emotion; there was no getting out of the corner, for
Heidt barred the way. Now and again she cast a
despairing glance at the Cupid, as if asking aid; but
no, the figure only stared back with a silly smile&mdash;ridiculous
creature!</p>

<p>Abrahamsen, in the passage adjoining, was watching
the pair with ill-repressed impatience. The sight of
the young lieutenant bending close and whispering<a class="pagenum" name="Page_182" id="Page_182" title="[Pg 182]"></a>
confidentially to Malvina made him tingle, and he
clenched his fists. Abrahamsen was an ill man to
jest with, and, as Soren was wont to say, he had a
pair of fists as heavy as the flippers of a full-grown
seal.</p>

<p>Coolest of all the conspirators was Old Nick, who
walked about, smiling and content, enjoying his own
observation of the entire menagerie, as he called
it. Towards Cilia he was deference itself, and won
her heart completely by addressing her as "Mrs.
Braathen."</p>

<p>At last Soren tapped his glass; all eyes were at
once turned towards him. He started off simply and
easily; he had just one thing to say and that was,
he thanked them all for their presence there this
evening, and was very glad to see them under his
humble roof. Your health! Cilia was quite proud
of her husband for once, and not a little surprised;
it was not a bit like Soren. Where on earth had he
picked it up? She herself had previously asked
Lt. Heidt, as a friend of the family, to say a few words
of welcome, but Soren had managed it excellently
already. Well, so much the better; it would show
Lt. Heidt that even he was not indispensable.</p>

<p>Old Nick then rose, and proposed "our host and
hostess" in a speech so fluent and cordial that even
the parson's wife, who had scarcely heard a word of
it, declared it was "perfectly charming."</p>

<p>All drank with Cilia, who curtsyed and nodded and
smiled, and nodded again, until her head almost fell
off; never in her dreams had she imagined such an
exalted moment.</p>

<p>The regulation speeches were now over, and nothing
more was expected beyond a few words from the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_183" id="Page_183" title="[Pg 183]"></a>
parson, when, to Cilia's astonishment and the surprise
of the guests, Soren again stepped forward and raised
his glass.</p>

<p>Cilia's first thought was that her husband had
taken a drop too much, but his calm, easy manner
disposed of that idea in a moment. She wondered
what on earth was going to happen, and for the first
time in her life the foundations of her despotic power
seemed shaken.</p>

<p>There was a tense silence among the guests; what
could he have to say? Old Nick stood beside him,
chatting easily with Malvina as if nothing were amiss.
Thor Smith was out in the passage with Abrahamsen.
Justice Heidt, who had been waiting all the evening
for the "declaration," drew a little nearer, in the
belief that it was coming.</p>

<p>Soren drank off his own glass of sherry, and having
reinforced it with Old Nick's and the parson's, which
stood nearest on the table, he gave vent to a long
sigh, or grunt, and commenced as follows:</p>

<p>"Ladies and Gentlemen: as mentioned, there's a
thing we call a union, which means, well&mdash;a sort of
union, you know" (loud applause from some of the
younger men, who thought Soren was referring to
the Union of Norway and Sweden), "and you can't
have any sort of union without&mdash;h'm&mdash;respect and&mdash;h'm&mdash;affection
on both sides." (Here the speaker
directed a lowering glance at Lt. Heidt, who was
moving towards the table.)</p>

<p>"There was a whole lot more I was supposed to say
about this, but I've forgotten the rest. And, anyhow,
it's a bit of a large order to expect an old skipper like
me to rattle out all that stuff about garlands of roses
and bonds of something&mdash;or&mdash;other." Old Nick gave<a class="pagenum" name="Page_184" id="Page_184" title="[Pg 184]"></a>
a despairing glance at Thor Smith, who shook his
head sadly. "Well, anyhow, it's as well to take the
bull by the horns, so here you are. Abrahamsen,
you've had charge of the old <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i> two voyages
this year, and I hereby make no bones about giving
you my girl Malvina, to sail her without deviation or
any delay, as the apple of my heart, across the ocean
of life, with all due care and seamanship, as set forth
in the bills of lading. And seeing as that same ocean's
given to foul weather and suchlike perils, dangers and
accidents of the sea or other waters, you'll need to
keep a sharp look-out and navigate according. And,
well, the Lord be with you. Amen."</p>

<p>Cilia, who was nervous and unsettled enough beforehand,
now lost her head completely, and as the guests
crowded round to offer their congratulations, she sank
into a chair holding a handkerchief to her eyes. And
when Malvina came up to embrace her, she broke
down completely.</p>

<p>Lt. Heidt turned sharply about in military fashion,
and strode magnificently out into the hall. On the
way he encountered Old Nick, who was rude enough
to smile at him, and say, "Rather neat that, don't you
think?"</p>

<p>Justice Heidt retired quietly, inwardly congratulating
himself with the thought that it was just as well
he had escaped closer connection with so plebeian a
family!</p>

<p>When the guests had left, Soren sat down beside his
wife and took her hand, endeavouring to comfort her
as well as he could. Cilia still wept, however; as if
all the tears she might have shed in her life, but never
had, were bursting forth at once. So copious indeed
was the flow, that Soren privately reckoned out it<a class="pagenum" name="Page_185" id="Page_185" title="[Pg 185]"></a>
would have sufficed to water half the carrot patch at
least.</p>

<p>It was with strange thoughts that Cilia retired to
rest. She was beginning to realise that she had been
dethroned; her power within-doors and abroad was
gone for ever; she had made a fool of herself with a
vengeance. It was a bitter thing to feel. She went
over in her mind the events of the summer: Soren's
journey to Sandefjord, her own expedition to
Christiania with Lt. Heidt, the party, and the new
furniture&mdash;how could she ever have been so foolish,
so insane!</p>

<p>Towards morning she grew calmer; she had decided
what to do, and was herself again.</p>

<p>She rose before the others were stirring, and lit a
big fire in the kitchen. Her sharp features showed
firm and decided as she stood before the stove, stiffly
upright, one hand fiercely clenching a crumpled roll of
something white. This she presently threw into the
flames with a deep sigh&mdash;but a sigh of relief, as if in
casting off a burden. It was her dainty indoor cap,
with the auriculas, that was sacrificed; the thing
hissed and spluttered, vanishing at last in sooty fragments
up the chimney.</p>

<p>When Soren and Malvina came down, they found
her on all fours in the parlour, hard at work packing
up carpets and curtains, knick-knacks and chandeliers.
They stood watching her for a while, but Cilia sharply
ordered them to help&mdash;and willingly they did! Not
a word was exchanged between the three; they
simply went on packing and packing, closing up the
cases and packing more, till they were ready to be
carried out into the yard.</p>

<p>In the course of the morning Abrahamsen turned<a class="pagenum" name="Page_186" id="Page_186" title="[Pg 186]"></a>
up, and lent a hand with the packing-cases. It was
almost as if it were a question of getting some evil
influence out of the house as quickly as possible. All
four worked together with perfect understanding, and
not a word was said either of the engagement or of the
party.</p>

<p>"What are we to do with that fellow there?" said
Abrahamsen, pointing to the Cupid.</p>

<p>Soren scratched his chin thoughtfully for a while,
and, as a result of his cogitations, suggested "making
a fountain." He had seen dozens of suchlike figures
in the course of his travels. You set them up in
gardens, with a hole bored through and a tube let in.
Why not stick it up on the pump outside; it would
look fine then! But Malvina insisted on getting rid
of the thing altogether; it had caused mischief enough
as it was. Thus Abrahamsen had an inspiration.
"Let's make Lawyer Nickelsen a present of it; he's
got a couple of things much the same to look at. I
dare say he'd be glad to have one more." The proposal
was received with acclamation, Cilia herself
offering no objection, but declaring they might do
what they pleased with the thing.</p>

<p>Abrahamsen accordingly took the unfortunate Cupid,
stuffed it into a sack, and marched off with it. Nickelsen
was not a little surprised to receive a visit from the
mischievous god, but on learning what was taking
place in its former home, he consented to shelter the
poor outcast. He also shook hands with Abrahamsen,
and said:</p>

<p>"My dear Abrahamsen, I congratulate you&mdash;and I
must say Cilia is wiser than I thought. It's not many
people would have the sense and character to repair
an error so resolutely as she has done."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_187" id="Page_187" title="[Pg 187]"></a>
There was general astonishment in Strandvik when
Cilia's elegant new furniture was seen being loaded on
board a coasting-vessel down at the quay; still further
wonder when it transpired that the entire consignment
was destined for Christiania, to be sold by auction
there.</p>

<p>Cilia went aboard calmly and quietly, paying no
heed to gossip or impertinent questions. And indeed
there were few who ventured to question her at all,
for her manner was severe enough to keep even the
most inquisitive at arm's length. As soon as the
vessel had left, she had all the old furniture put back
in its place. Malvina brought out her plaster angel,
wiped it carefully, and set it up on the same old bracket
again.</p>

<p>It was surprising how comfortable everything
seemed at home now. Soren was so delighted he went
about rubbing his hands, and even Cilia herself seemed
gentler and more tractable than before. So much
so, indeed, that Soren decided to give up his quarters
in the wash-house, and drank his bottled beer on a
settle in the kitchen, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world; and Cilia made no protest, but
set out glass and tray for him herself! Soren felt he
was the happiest man in the world, and it was not
many weeks before all was back in the old routine,
Cilia devoting herself in earnest to the business of
shipowning and chartering. Abrahamsen was transferred
to the <i>Apollo</i>, and Soren went on board his old
friend <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>, a skipper once more.</p>

<p>One thing Cilia found more astonishing than all
else, and that was that both Lawyer Nickelsen and
old Prois himself took to calling at the house now and
then; nay, more&mdash;she and Malvina were actually<a class="pagenum" name="Page_188" id="Page_188" title="[Pg 188]"></a>
asked to tea at the Prois's. Cilia was finding out
that there were more things in heaven and earth than
were dreamt of in her philosophy.</p>

<p>Passing by Cilia's well-kept garden in the spring,
one might see a number of wine-glasses, minus the
stems, but engraved with the monogram "S. &amp; C. B.,"
placed protectingly over tender seedling or cuttings
planted out in the round or oblong borders&mdash;"all
that's left of the days when mother went wrong in the
upper works," said Soren Braaten.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_189" id="Page_189" title="[Pg 189]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV<br />
A ROYAL VISIT</h2>


<p>"Heard the news, Nickelsen?" cried Thor
Smith, looking in at Nickelsen's door.</p>

<p>"No, what?"</p>

<p>"The King's coming."</p>

<p>"Don't talk nonsense&mdash;what d'you mean?"</p>

<p>"It's true, honour bright. The Council's all head
over heels already, fixing up a committee for the
arrangement."</p>

<p>"No, really? Why, that'll be first-rate. Just
wanted something to brighten things up a bit; it's
been very dull lately." Old Nick rubbed his hands
gleefully. "Come along, let's walk down that way a
bit and see if we can get hold of somebody in the
know."</p>

<p>"Hallo, here's Holm Berg! I say, are you on this
committee?"</p>

<p>"No, thank goodness, I managed to get out of it.
Not but that there were plenty anxious to get in!"</p>

<p>"Who's on it, then, do you know?"</p>

<p>"Well, there's Heidt, of course, as Justice, but he
was quite put out about it himself, and wished His
Majesty I won't say where. You see, it means getting
new uniform, for the gold braid's all worn off his
old one."</p>

<p>"Well, and who else?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_190" id="Page_190" title="[Pg 190]"></a>
"Oh, let's see; the parson, Governor Hansen,
Watchmaker Rordam and Dr. Knap&mdash;oh yes, and
Prois, of course, as Warden."</p>

<p>"What, old Prois?"</p>

<p>"Yes, and he was quite cut up about it too. Said
he was too old for such tomfoolery."</p>

<p>It was a busy time all round for the loyal citizens
of Strandvik; and the worst of it was, they had only
three days to make all arrangements. The royal
party would arrive on Thursday at four o'clock and
dine in the town. And to-day was Monday.</p>

<p>The committee held meetings morning and afternoon.
A band was asked for by telegram from the
naval station at Horten, and a special cook from
Drammen; both, fortunately, promised to come.</p>

<p>A triumphal arch was set up at the Custom House,
and Nachmann, the German wine merchant, sent up
four cart-loads of bottles to the Town Hall, where
the banquet was to be held. Nachmann was in high
feather, and declared loyally that a Royal House
was an excellent institution and an encouragement
to trade and commerce.</p>

<p>But what was the King to drive in? Consul
Jansen had a very respectable pair-horse carriage of
his own, lined with grey silk, and suitable for most
"special occasions," but unfortunately one of the
horses was lame, and the other a confirmed runaway.
What was to be done?</p>

<p>Lt. Heidt had just got a new mount, but so miserably
emaciated a beast that one could almost see daylight
through its ribs. There was no possibility of
using such a bag of bones for such a purpose.</p>

<p>Finally, the choice fell upon Baker Ottosen's black
mare, a famous beauty. But one mare's not a pair;<a class="pagenum" name="Page_191" id="Page_191" title="[Pg 191]"></a>
there was nothing for it but to take Governor Hansen's
old "Swift," so called from the fact of its never on
any occasion exceeding the easiest amble. It was
hoped that the close proximity of the mare would
liven it up a little.</p>

<p>For three whole days Aslaksen of the livery stables
practised the pair up and down through the streets,
to the great edification of the urchins, who ran after
the carriage shouting and cheering.</p>

<p>Tar barrels and rockets were set ready in place
out in the fjord, and all the candles in the stores
were bought up for the purpose of illumination.</p>

<p>From early morning the committee <a class="corr" name="TC_6" id="TC_6" title="were">was</a> abroad,
in full evening-dress, and desperately busy.</p>

<p>Old Justice Heidt stood in his shirt-sleeves and
new gold-braided breeches making his most deferential
bow to an old American clock: "May it please
Your Majesty, in the person of the town's ..." he
had to look up the paper and read through his speech
once again.</p>

<p>Excitement increased as the day wore on. Stout
peasant girls with red roses in their hats, and lanky
youths with blue and green ties, and a bottle of spirits
in their hinder pockets, began pouring into the town.</p>

<p>The committee was working feverishly. Everything
was now practically ready, flags and bunting
everywhere, and as many green wreaths as seven old
women had been able to prepare in three days.
All that remained was the great centre-piece, with
the arms of the town, to be hung above the royal
seat in the banqueting hall.</p>

<p>Watchmaker Rordam, who, in addition to having
charge of all the time-pieces in the town, further
acted as instrument maker, turner and decorator, had<a class="pagenum" name="Page_192" id="Page_192" title="[Pg 192]"></a>
undertaken to paint the aforesaid piece. But at one
o'clock he suddenly retired in dudgeon, and the arms
of the town were nowhere. The cause of this disaster
was Old Nick, who had come up during the morning
to the hall to see how the decorations were getting on.
Rordam was there just putting the finishing touches
to his masterpiece.</p>

<p>"Ah, Rordam, painting a picture, are you? Tell
me, what it's supposed to be, exactly?"</p>

<p>"Eh?" said Rordam, with a frown. "Can't you
see? Why, the town arms, of course&mdash;a bear holding
a pine tree on a blue ground, and a goddess with the
scales of justice in red in the other corner."</p>

<p>"No, really?" said Old Nick. "Devil take me, if
I didn't think it was Adam and Eve stealing apples
in the Garden of Eden."</p>

<p>Rordam was furious, and swore he would not put
up with such impertinence, he had not come there
to be insulted. He had undertaken the work as a
loyal citizen's contribution to the general good,
without fee or remuneration of any sort, and if Lawyer
Nickelsen thought he could paint a better coat-of-arms,
why, let him take over the business, and welcome.
And, tearing down his painting, the indignant watchmaker
took himself off.</p>

<p>Old Nick likewise found it advisable to disappear,
after a vain attempt to bring the injured painter to
reason, assuring him that it was only a joke, no harm
intended, etc. etc.</p>

<p>The committee was summoned in haste, and stood
staring blankly at the empty space where the bear
and the goddess of justice should have appeared.</p>

<p>Their anger was very naturally turned upon Old
Nick.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_193" id="Page_193" title="[Pg 193]"></a>
"Really, I think he might have kept his remarks
to himself," said Dr. Knap. "Old muddler that
he is."</p>

<p>"He never can keep a still tongue in his head,"
agreed Justice Heidt.</p>

<p>It was now past one o'clock: the King was to
arrive at four, and there was no painting a new design
in three hours. Hang up a big Norwegian flag?
That, of course, could be done; but it would seem a
very poor sort of decoration without the arms of the
town. Then Governor Hansen had a bright idea:
"Let's get up an impromptu lunch at once, and ask
Rordam along, as if nothing was the matter."</p>

<p>"Do you think he'll come?" asked Justice Heidt.</p>

<p>"Sure enough&mdash;if we just let him know it's a
special lunch for a small select party. Send the
message in your own name, Justice, and I'll wager
a bottle of Montebello he'll come."</p>

<p>Half an hour after, Rordam arrived, and was received
by Justice Heidt, who clapped him on the shoulder
and thanked him heartily for his splendid decoration
of the hall.</p>

<p>"And I must say we are fortunate in having in so
small a town an artist of taste like yourself. I am sure
His Majesty will wish to thank you personally. By
the way, that coat of arms, it will be ready in time, I
hope? Dr. Knap was just saying it was a magnificent
piece of work."</p>

<p>"Why&mdash;er&mdash;that is&mdash;I wasn't altogether pleased
with it myself, so I took it down."</p>

<p>"Oh, nonsense, my dear fellow! I am sure it's excellent.
Hang it up again and don't worry about
that."</p>

<p>The shield was set in place again accordingly, and<a class="pagenum" name="Page_194" id="Page_194" title="[Pg 194]"></a>
the committee unanimously expressed their admiration.
The figure of the bear in particular was highly
praised. "As lifelike as anything you'd see in a menagerie,"
said Warden Prois cautiously. "And the
young lady too, I'm sure," said Dr. Knap, with a sly
nudge to Heidt. Rordam was pacified, completely
won over, and so gratified at the amiable condescension
of the notables at lunch that he felt he could afford to
despise a mere lawyer like that fellow Nickelsen.</p>

<p>At half-past three precisely the committee members
of Council and other leading personages went down
to the quay where the Royal party was to land. The
appearance of Warden Prois, with his gold-laced cap,
ditto tunic, belt and dirk (all newly ordered for the
occasion) was the signal for cheering from the assembled
urchins. The demonstration, however, so annoyed
the old man that he angrily ordered them to "keep
quiet, you little devils," at which undignified utterance
on the part of a person in authority, Justice Heidt
frowned severely.</p>

<p>The four town constables were likewise dressed for
the occasion with new trousers and white cotton
gloves, and made a brave show.</p>

<p>"Boom&mdash;boom&mdash;boom!" came the salute from the
fire-station, and Ottosen's black mare reared so
violently that Aslaksen's silver-braided silk hat fell off.
Worse was to come, however. As the band from
Horten struck up, "Swift" became troublesome. At
last the Warden himself had to spring to the heads of
the frantic pair and hold them, or the whole equipage
would have gone over the side into the water. His
Majesty, no doubt from previous experience of provincial
turn-outs, preferred to walk, and the party
moved off, accompanied by a burst of cheering, towards<a class="pagenum" name="Page_195" id="Page_195" title="[Pg 195]"></a>
the Town Hall; Aslaksen, with his carriage and ill
assorted pair, following shamefacedly in the rear.</p>

<p>At the upper end of the Royal table sat the Justice
and other notables; the King's suite were distributed
between the members of the committee. For the
convenience of the latter, Heidt had had cards set
round at each place, with the names of the guest
seated next. Warden Prois, who had been introduced
to his particular charge, but had not managed to catch
the name, slipped away stealthily outside, put on his
spectacles and endeavoured to read his card. "His
Excellency ... M.&mdash;M.&mdash;Megesen&mdash;no, Pegestik&mdash;devil
take me if I can make head or tail of it." At
last he decided for "Negesuk" as the Excellency's
name&mdash;Swedish names were always queer.</p>

<p>It was a very festive affair, and full justice was done
to the fourteen courses and Nachmann's good wine.
The official speeches were all delivered with laudable
precision, excepting Governor Hansen's. That worthy
came to a standstill, and had to fumble in his waistcoat
pocket for the written copy, consisting of two
lines scrawled on a bit of paper, the crumpled appearance
of which suggested that it had been liberally
consulted already.</p>

<p>The talk flowed easily and without embarrassing
restraint. Old Klementsen quietly pocketed a copy
of the menu, to take home to his wife; it was only
fair that she should have her share of the feast.</p>

<p>"Mr. Chamberlain Negesuk, may I have the honour?"
Prois raised his glass courteously towards his neighbour,
who drank with him and bowed in return, albeit
with some stiffness of manner. This, however, the
Warden attributed to their proximity to the Royal
person.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_196" id="Page_196" title="[Pg 196]"></a>
"Ah&mdash;my name is Von Vegesak," said the courtier,
with a bow.</p>

<p>"The deuce it is," said Prois; "it doesn't look like it
on the card." And he put on his glasses and turned
the card about.</p>

<p>"Oh, but that's not my birth certificate, you know,"
answered Von Vegesak, with a smile.</p>

<p>"Well, anyhow, here's to you, Mr.&mdash;Mr.&mdash;Vegesak."</p>

<p>At one end of the Royal table sat Governor Hansen
and Captain Palander, deep in conversation about&mdash;horses!
Horses were the one theme in which Hansen
was really interested, devoting especial attention to
trotters, and once he got on to his favourite subject
there was no stopping him.</p>

<p>"Curious thing," he observed, "I had a trotting
horse a few years ago called Palander&mdash;ha, ha, ha!
Yes, that was really its name. But I could never
get any pace out of it on ordinary going; ice underfoot
was the only thing to make it go."</p>

<p>"Very good claret this," murmured the King to
Justice Heidt.</p>

<p>"Yes, Your Majesty; we have it from our worthy
dealer here, Mr. Nachmann, a citizen of the town."</p>

<p>"Quite right, Your Majesty; a genuine brand and
<em>premier one</em>." Nachmann rose to his feet and turned
his moonlike countenance towards the King.</p>

<p>"Thanks for good wine, then, Nachmann," said His
Majesty, raising his glass.</p>

<p>"Proudest moment in my life, Your Majesty. I'll
take the liberty of laying down a few bottles in memory
of the occasion&mdash;until Your Majesty honours us again.
Most humble servant, Your Majesty.<span class="corr" title='added: "'>"</span></p>

<p>And Nachmann bowed deeply, but with evident<a class="pagenum" name="Page_197" id="Page_197" title="[Pg 197]"></a>
pride. How they would envy him now, P. A. Larsen,
Lundgren, Carl Fleischer, and all the rest of them,
who fancied nobody sold good wine but themselves!
He would get the editor of the <i>Strandvik Gazette</i> to
quote the Royal compliment to the firm of Nachmann
&amp; Co.&mdash;it was a credit to the town to have such a
business in its midst.</p>

<p>When Nachmann rose, there was a sudden silence;
one could have heard a pin drop. But since His
Majesty took the occurrence in such good part, the
others could do so too. Nevertheless, Justice Heidt
considered Nachmann's behaviour unjustifiable and a
breach of etiquette. He cast a glance of stern reproof
at the wine merchant, but the latter was so elated that
he misunderstood its meaning, and, raising his glass,
nodded pleasantly in return: "Your health, Justice!"</p>

<p>Old Klementsen, the parish clerk, who had hardly
eaten at all for two days in order to get full value out
of the banquet for his twelve shillings, had been
shovelling away as hard as he could stuff, and drinking
in proportion. He was now in high feather as a result,
and his one idea now was to get up and make a
speech in honour of Carl Johan, whom he had seen in
1840.</p>

<p>His neighbours with difficulty restrained him,
tearing the tails of his coat in their efforts to keep him
in his seat. Finally, they got him down into the
police cells on the ground floor, when he delivered his
loyal oration to the warder.</p>

<p>Up in the gallery sat the ladies of the town, perspiring
in their Sunday best; it was almost hot enough up
there to boil a lobster. All were thirsty too, and
matters were not improved by the sight of their
respective husbands and fathers in the hall below<a class="pagenum" name="Page_198" id="Page_198" title="[Pg 198]"></a>
eating and drinking <i lang="la">ad libitum</i> of the best, while they
themselves had neither bite nor sup.</p>

<p>Miss Svane, headmistress of the girls' school, could
not restrain her emotions, and declared warmly that
"it was easy enough to be a loyal subject of His
Majesty if that was how they did it!"</p>

<p>Cilia Braaten had never seen a King at meals before;
she was gratified with the new experience, and had no
thought for anything else until Miss Svane delivered
her envious dictum. Then, however, she resolutely
sent off a boy for six bottles of lemonade, in which
the ladies drank to His Majesty's health&mdash;and, literally
speaking, drank it warmly.</p>

<p>At last the time came for the Royal party to leave,
and the departure took place amid an endless thunder
of cheering. Rockets whizzed, the gun at the fire-station
boomed in salute. But in the banqueting-hall
the fun grew fast and furious.</p>

<p>Bowls of punch were brought in, and Schoolmaster
Iversen made thirteen speeches, to which nobody
listened at all. Skipper Abrahamsen jumped up on
the table and made another for the Norwegian play,
in the course of which he managed to empty his glass
of punch over Warden Prois's new uniform, at which
that worthy, very naturally incensed, cursed the
patriot emphatically for behaving like a monkey on
a tightrope.</p>

<p>Even aged Klementsen had come to life again,
and found his way upstairs from the cells, somewhat
pale but resolute still. His appearance was greeted
with a burst of cheering, and a party of enthusiasts
chaired him round the hall, singing patriotic songs the
while. The singing and shouting continued well on
towards morning, and a street sweeper declared he<a class="pagenum" name="Page_199" id="Page_199" title="[Pg 199]"></a>
had heard them howling out "God save our gracious
King" at half-past six&mdash;but his watch, no doubt, must
have been fast!</p>

<p>Next day the <i>Strandvik Gazette</i> contained a poem
entitled "A Royal Visit," from which the following
verses concerning the banquet may be quoted:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"'Twas plain to see that Strandvik town<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Lacked neither meat <a class="corr" name="TC_7" id="TC_7" title="not">nor</a> mirth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The banquet might have brought renown<br /></span>
<span class="i1">To any place on earth.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The dishes, numbering fourteen,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Were rich enough to make,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If such his daily fare had been,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">The Royal tummy ache.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And healths were drunk and speeches very wittily were said,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And those who had no speech to make, they drank the wine instead.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But yet in spite of speeches gay<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And wit and wine, I dare to say<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His Majesty was glad to get away!"<br /></span>
<a class="pagenum" name="Page_200" id="Page_200" title="[Pg 200]"></a></div></div>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV<br />
PETER OILAND</h2>


<p>Peter Oiland, the new master at the girls'
school in Strandvik, was a tall, thin man of
about thirty. He had taken a theological
degree, and his solemn, clean face gave him a somewhat
clerical air; his manner, too, appeared calm and
reserved.</p>

<p>"Not much fun to be got out of him, by his looks,"
said Old Nick, the first time he encountered Peter
Oiland's lanky figure and serious countenance on his
way up through the town.</p>

<p>It was not from any predilection of his own, however,
that Peter Oiland had come to study theology,
but a result of circumstances which left him no choice
in the matter. His studies had been carried through
at the expense of an old uncle, who was parish clerk
at Sandefjord, and whose dearest wish it was to see
the boy in Holy Orders. Only fancy; to be handing
the cassock to a nephew of his own.</p>

<p>Peter, then, had taken his degree accordingly, and
endeavoured conscientiously to suit himself as far as
possible to the clerical rôle for which he was cast in
life; how he succeeded we shall presently see.</p>

<p>His quiet and sober dignity of manner gained him
the entry to the Sukkestads' house, where he was soon
a frequent guest; not that he found himself particularly<a class="pagenum" name="Page_201" id="Page_201" title="[Pg 201]"></a>
attracted by Sukkestad and his wife, or their severely
earnest circle of friends. The attraction, in fact, was
Andrea, the daughter of the house and only child, for
whom he entertained the tenderest feeling. Andrea
was a buxom, pink-and-white beauty of eighteen
summers. Her light blue eyes and little stumpy nose
were quite charming in their way, while the plait of
long, fair hair over the shoulders gave her an air of
childish innocence.</p>

<p>In a word, Peter Oiland was desperately in love,
while Andrea, who had never before been the object
of such attentions, began to lie awake at nights wondering
whether he "really meant it." The solution,
however, came quite naturally.</p>

<p>Andrea played the piano, and sang touching little
songs of the sentimental type, such as "When my
eyes are closing," "The Last Rose of Summer," or
"The Deserted Cottage"&mdash;which transported Peter
Oiland to the eighth heaven at least. One evening,
when she had finished one of her usual turns, he took
her hand and thanked her warmly, pressing it also
quite perceptibly&mdash;and Andrea, well, she somehow
managed to press his quite perceptibly in return&mdash;by
accident, of course. And then these hand-clasps were
repeated, nay, became a regular thing, to such an extent
that the pair would press each other's hands when
seated on the sofa with Mamma Sukkestad between
them. That good lady, however, did not notice, or
affected not to notice, these evidences of tender passion
taking place behind her back.</p>

<p>Thanks to his intimacy with Sukkestad, and also
to his own reputation as a sober and earnest man, Peter
Oiland was chosen, after only a couple of months' residence
in the place, as one of the two representatives<a class="pagenum" name="Page_202" id="Page_202" title="[Pg 202]"></a>
of the town to attend the mission meeting at Stavanger.
Sukkestad himself was the other.</p>

<p>On the evening before their departure, he was invited
to a party at the Sukkestads', together with the
members of the Women's Union.</p>

<p>Peter Oiland had already succeeded in making
himself a special favourite with Mrs. Sukkestad, and
was on very confidential terms with her; relations,
indeed, became quite intimate, when Andrea confided
the secret of their mutual feelings to her mother.</p>

<p>After supper, preserved fruit and pastry were
handed round, which Peter Oiland inwardly considered
a somewhat insipid form of entertainment.
He had often felt the lack of a glass of grog on his
visits to the house, and this evening he deftly turned
the conversation with Mrs. Sukkestad to the subject
of "colds," from which he declared himself to be
suffering considerably just lately. Mrs. Sukkestad
recommended hot turpentine bandages on the chest
and barley water internally. Oiland, however, hinted
that the only thing he had ever known to do him any
good was egg punch. Mrs. Sukkestad, who was one
of those stout little homely persons always anxious
to help, and with a fine store of household recipes ever
available, set to work at once to find some means of
getting him his favourite medicine, while Peter coughed
distressingly, and screwed up his eyes behind his
glasses.</p>

<p>"I tell you what," whispered Mrs. Sukkestad at
last. "Sukkestad is an abstainer, you know, so we've
never anything in the way of spirits in the house as
a rule. But I've half a bottle of brandy out in the
pantry that I got last spring when I was troubled with
the toothache; I was going to use it for cleaning the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_203" id="Page_203" title="[Pg 203]"></a>
windows, really, but if you think it would do your cold
any good, I'd be only too pleased."</p>

<p>"Thanks ever so much, it's awfully good of you,"
said Peter Oiland hoarsely.</p>

<p>"Well, then, be sure you don't let anyone know
what it is. I'll put it in one of the decanters, and say
it's gooseberry wine."</p>

<p>"Yes, yes, of course; I understand."</p>

<p>And, shortly after, Peter Oiland was comfortably
seated in a corner with a lovely big glass of grog,
enjoying himself thoroughly, and, to complete his
satisfaction, Andrea sang:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"Thou art my one and only thought,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">My one and only love...."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Peter drank deep of the joy of life, and eke of grog,
and Andrea seemed more charming than ever.</p>

<p>Later in the evening he held forth to the ladies&mdash;among
whom, as above mentioned, were all the
members of the Women's Union&mdash;about the blacks of
the South Sea Islands, and gave so lurid a description
of the state of things there prevailing as to make his
audience fairly shudder.</p>

<p>"And would you believe it, on one of the islands
in the Pacific, a place called Kolamukka, belonging
to Queen Rabagadale, they eat roast baby just as we
do sucking pig, the only difference being that they
don't serve them up with lemons in their mouths."</p>

<p>Sukkestad thought this was going rather too far,
and broke in, "Oh, come now, Oiland; you're exaggerating,
I'm sure. Thank goodness, all the poor
heathens are not cannibals."</p>

<p>"Have to quote the worst examples, to make it
properly interesting," said Oiland, which dictum was<a class="pagenum" name="Page_204" id="Page_204" title="[Pg 204]"></a>
supported by Mrs. Writher, who declared that one
could not paint these things too darkly; it was hard
enough as it was to make people realise the dreadful
state of those benighted creatures.</p>

<p>When the guests had left, Mrs. Sukkestad felt some
qualms of conscience at the thought of having "served
intoxicating liquors" in her house. She lay awake
for hours, debating with herself whether she ought to
confess at once to her husband. The excuse about
having a cold was&mdash;well, rather poor after all. Suppose
Oiland had a weakness, a leaning towards drink, and
she had led him astray! His cough, too, had vanished
so quickly, it was suspicious. However, she decided
to say nothing for the present.</p>

<p>It was a fine, bright, sunny day when Sukkestad
and Peter Oiland, as delegates from Strandvik to the
meeting at Stavanger, stepped on board the coasting
steamer, which was already half full of delegates with
white neckerchiefs and broad-brimmed felt hats.</p>

<p>The smoke-room was thick with the fumes of cheap
tobacco and a hum of quiet talk from decent folk in
black Sunday coats and well-polished leg boots. A
swarthy little commercial traveller, with a bright red
tie and waxed moustache, sat squeezed up in a corner
puffing at a "special" cigar with a coloured waistband.</p>

<p>Peter Oiland gave a formal greeting to the company
assembled as he entered; those nearest politely made
way for him.</p>

<p>"It's a hard life, teaching," observed a stout little
man with a florid, clean-shaven face and glistening
black hair brushed forward over his ears. "Tells on
the nerves."</p>

<p>"You find it so?" put in Peter Oiland. "Well,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_205" id="Page_205" title="[Pg 205]"></a>
now, it all depends on how you take it&mdash;as the young
man said when he took a kiss in the dark."</p>

<p>There was a somewhat awkward silence; the
company seemed rather in doubt as to the speaker's
sympathy with their ideas.</p>

<p>Presently the sea began to make itself felt, and
Peter Oiland found occasion to relate the anecdote of
the old lady who had been in to Christiania for a new
set of false teeth, and, being sea-sick on the way back,
dropped them overboard; next day the local papers
had an account of a big cod just caught, with false
teeth in its mouth!</p>

<p>A smile&mdash;a very faint one&mdash;greeted the story, and
the passengers relapsed into their customary seriousness,
not without occasional glances between one and
another: what sort of a fellow was this they had got
on board?</p>

<p>"H'm!" thought Peter Oiland. "Have another
try; wake them up a bit. Must be a queer sort of
party if I can't."</p>

<p>Just then Sukkestad appeared in the doorway.</p>

<p>"This way, this way, if you please," shouted Peter
gaily. "Gentlemen, my friend and colleague, Bukkestad&mdash;beg
pardon, Sukkestad; slip of the tongue,
you understand. Come along in, old man! Jolly
evening we had at your place last night&mdash;first-rate fun."</p>

<p>Sukkestad did not know whether to laugh or cry,
or take himself off and have done with it. The fellow
must be mad!</p>

<p>The commercial, who had been hiding his face
behind an old newspaper, burst out laughing, and
hurried out on deck.</p>

<p>Peter Oiland settled his glasses on his nose, and
went on:</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_206" id="Page_206" title="[Pg 206]"></a>
"Smart lot of ladies you'd got hold of, too, Sukkestad;
quite the up-to-date sort&mdash;eh, what? Ah,
you're the man for the girls, no doubt about that."</p>

<p>"Really, Mr. Oiland, I don't know what you mean.
Party&mdash;girls&mdash;I never heard of such a thing."</p>

<p>Peter then fell to telling stories, in the course of
which one after another of the delegates disappeared.
When he came to the story of the clerk who handed
the parson his cassock with the words: "Tch! steady,
old hoss, till I get your harness on," the last one left
the room; no one was left now but the little commercial,
who had found his way back again, and was
thoroughly enjoying it all. The sea was calm now,
and the moon was up, so the pair seated themselves
on deck. And in the course of the evening the
delegates below, endeavouring to get to sleep in their
respective berths, were entertained by a series of
drinking-songs much favoured by the wilder youth
of the universities, Peter Oiland singing one part
and the commercial traveller the other.</p>

<p>The pair were so pleased with each other's company
that the commercial, whose name was Klingenstein&mdash;"Goloshes
and rubber goods," decided not to land at
Arendal as he had intended, but to go on to Stavanger
instead. Peter Oiland recommended this course, as
offering, perhaps&mdash;who could say&mdash;an opportunity for
getting into touch with the South Sea Islands, and
selling goloshes to the heathen.</p>

<p>"As a matter of fact," Peter added, "I know a
man in Stavanger who lived some years on one of the
South Sea Islands, personal friend of Queen Nabagadale;
useful man to know." There was then every
reason to believe that Klingenstein might open up a
new market in elastic stockings and such like.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_207" id="Page_207" title="[Pg 207]"></a>
The moon went down about midnight, and Peter
Oiland thought he might as well do likewise. Thoroughly
pleased with himself and all the world,
he went below and found his way to his cabin. The
upper berth was occupied by a man in a big woollen
nightcap. "Evening!" said Peter in the friendliest
tone, as he sat down to take off his boot.</p>

<p>"Sir," said the gentleman in the nightcap, "permit
me to observe that you might have a little consideration
for people who wish to rest."</p>

<p>"Delighted, I'm sure," said Peter. "But what's
the matter? Can't you get to sleep? Awful nuisance,
insomnia, I know."</p>

<p>"Well, when people are so tactless as to sit up on
deck just over one's head, stamping and shouting out
ribald songs...."</p>

<p>But before his indignant fellow-passenger could
finish his sentence, Peter Oiland was in his berth
and snoring&mdash;snoring so emphatically, indeed, that
he of the nightcap, after having listened to this new
melody for three solid hours, got up in despair and
went off to lie down on a sofa in the saloon.</p>

<p>Peter Oiland slept like a mummy till ten o'clock
next morning, not even waking when the steamer
touched at her two ports of call.</p>

<p>Coming on deck, he could not fail to perceive that
the other delegates were somewhat cold and reserved
in their manner towards him, while as for Sukkestad,
he had retired to an obscure corner of the second-class
quarters.</p>

<p>"Poor fellow, he's not used to travelling," thought
Peter Oiland. "I must go and cheer him up a bit."
And he went across to Sukkestad and asked if he
didn't feel like something to eat.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_208" id="Page_208" title="[Pg 208]"></a>
Sukkestad was not inclined to be friendly at first,
but Oiland took no heed; on the contrary, he took
his reluctant colleague by the arm and dragged him
off, willy nilly, to the dining-saloon. There was an
excellent spread, hot and cold meats, and Peter
Oiland's heart warmed at the sight.</p>

<p>Klingenstein was already seated and hard at work
on the viands, with serviette tucked under his chin;
he rose, however, and bowed in fine style as Oiland
made the introduction: "Mr. Krickke&mdash;beg pardon,
Sukkestad&mdash;Mr. Vingentein&mdash;er, I should say,
Klingenstein." The two new acquaintances looked at
one another rather blankly for a moment, then both
stared at Oiland, who, however, appeared entirely
unconcerned, and fell to with excellent appetite upon
a generous helping of steak and onions.</p>

<p>Oiland ordered a bottle of beer and a schnapps,
whereat Sukkestad shook his head mournfully, and
inquired whether he really thought that was good
for his health. Oiland, however, declared it was
good for sea-sickness, and he never felt easy on
board ship without it.</p>

<p>Sukkestad grew thoughtful. What would happen
when they got to Stavanger? He wished he could
get out of it somehow, and go back home again.</p>

<p>At last the voyage was over, the two delegates
went ashore and put up at the Hotel Norge.</p>

<p>The first thing Sukkestad noticed, on coming down
into the hall, was the name "Plukkestad" written
on the board against the number of his room. This
was too much; he rubbed out the offending letters
with his own hand, and wrote instead, with emphatic
distinction, "C. A. Sukkestad." He strongly suspected
Oiland of being the culprit; he had gone<a class="pagenum" name="Page_209" id="Page_209" title="[Pg 209]"></a>
downstairs a few minutes before, but having no proof
he preferred to say nothing about it.</p>

<p>Sukkestad was now thoroughly ill at ease; his one
constant thought was to find himself safely home again
without any scandal. He saw little of Oiland the
first day; the schoolmaster had hired a carriage and
set off round the town to see the sights. In the
evening, Oiland asked how the meeting had gone off
that day, and if anyone had noticed his absence.
Sukkestad answered emphatically, "No," inwardly
hoping that Peter would not appear at the meetings
still to come.</p>

<p>"Well, I think I've seen about all there is to see
in this old place&mdash;Harbour, Cathedral, Town Hall,
Mirror House, and statues of famous men&mdash;done it
pretty thoroughly, I should say."</p>

<p>At the meeting on the following day Peter turned
up, and astonished the assembly by delivering a long
harangue on "The Civilising Influence of Missionary
Work." Sukkestad nearly fainted.</p>

<p>Peter's speech produced a great effect, the listeners
growing more and more interested as he went on.
"Who is he&mdash;what's his name? You've got a regular
speaker there, Sukkestad." Sukkestad was utterly at
a loss, but vowed never again to expose himself to
such surprises, either of one sort or the other.</p>

<p>At last the conference was ended, and the two
delegates from Strandvik set out for home.</p>

<p>It was with great relief that Sukkestad found
himself on board the steamer; Peter might do what
he pleased now, for all he cared. As it turned out,
however, Peter was amiability itself towards his
travelling companion, though the latter did not seem
to appreciate his attention, but endeavoured to keep<a class="pagenum" name="Page_210" id="Page_210" title="[Pg 210]"></a>
to himself&mdash;a matter of some difficulty on board a small
steamboat. An hour before they got in to Strandvik,
Oiland came up to him and begged the favour of a
"serious word" with him. Sukkestad wondered what
on earth was coming, as the other took him by the
arm and dragged him off to the forepart of the ship.</p>

<p>"I have had the pleasure of being a frequent guest
in your house," Peter began, buttonholing Sukkestad
as if to make sure he did not escape.</p>

<p>"I shouldn't have thought it could be any pleasure
to you," put in Sukkestad dryly.</p>

<p>"It has indeed, my dear fellow; and I have the
more reason to say so, since your daughter Andrea&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"What?"</p>

<p>"Forgive my saying so, Mr. Sukkestad, but your
daughter has made a deep impression on me."</p>

<p>"Really, Mr. Oiland, this...." Sukkestad trembled
at what was to come.</p>

<p>"A deep impression on me. And I think I may
venture to say that she herself&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Pardon me, Mr. Oiland. My daughter has no
feelings in any matter before consulting her father's
wishes."</p>

<p>"Oh, but she has, my dear father-in-law, I assure you."</p>

<p>"Father-in-law Mr. Oiland, this is most unseemly
jesting." Sukkestad tried to break away, but Peter
held him fast.</p>

<p>"But, my dear sir, what objection can you have
to the match? We've always got on splendidly
together, and I'm sure this present voyage, and our
little adventures on the way, will always be among
our most cherished memories&mdash;won't they, now?"</p>

<p>"Oh, this is too much! I would recommend you,
Mr. Oiland&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_211" id="Page_211" title="[Pg 211]"></a>
"Most kind of you. I was sure you would. And
I'm quite an eligible suitor, really, you know. Got my
degree&mdash;rather low on the list, I confess, but, anyhow....
I ought to tell you, though, that I don't propose
to enter the Church."</p>

<p>"Something to be thankful for at least," said
Sukkestad.</p>

<p>"So glad you agree with me. Delighted, really.
Well, my dear fellow, I can understand you're a little
overwhelmed just at the moment, but we can settle
the details when we're at home and at leisure. We're
agreed on the essential point, so that's all right."</p>

<p>Oiland let go his hold, and Sukkestad hurried off to
his cabin and began getting his things together in
feverish haste. What, give his daughter, his only
child, to a fellow like that? Never!</p>

<p>They got in without further event, and parted on
the quay, Oiland shaking hands fervently with a hearty
"Thanks for your pleasant company," while Sukkestad
murmured absently: "Not at all, not at all."</p>

<p>Sukkestad had hardly got inside the house when
Andrea came rushing up to him. "Oh, wasn't it a
lovely speech of Oiland's? The parson's just been in
and told us; simply splendid, he says it was."</p>

<p>"Well, my child, that's a matter of opinion."</p>

<p>"Oh, father, you're always so severe," said Andrea,
turning away with tears in her eyes.</p>

<p>A quarter of an hour later Sukkestad and his wife
were unpacking in the bedroom, and a serious conference
took place between the two. He recounted
Oiland's behaviour on the voyage. "And I do hope
things haven't gone so far between them as he says,"
observed Sukkestad sternly, with a meaning glance at
his wife. The latter turned away, wiping her eyes on<a class="pagenum" name="Page_212" id="Page_212" title="[Pg 212]"></a>
a corner of her apron, and sniffing the while. "Marie,
you don't mean to say you've been a party to it yourself?"</p>

<p>"I&mdash;yes&mdash;no, that is&mdash;&mdash; Oh, don't be angry with
me. I did think he was such a nice man, really I did."</p>

<p>"Well, we must see what can be done," said
Sukkestad.</p>

<p>That evening it was decided that Andrea should be
sent as a Warder to the Moravian Mission at Kristiansfeldt.</p>

<p>Andrea wept bitterly, but to no purpose; she had
to go, whether she liked it or not.</p>

<p>Peter Oiland came several times to the house, but
got no farther than the doorstep; the maid invariably
greeted him with the words: "Mr. Sukkestad's compliments,
sir, but he's not at home."</p>

<p>On the occasion of his last attempt before Andrea's
departure, he had just got out of the gate when he
heard the drawing-room window open, and Andrea's
well-known voice singing:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"Thou are my one and only thought,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">My one and only love...."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>He stopped and looked up, but saw only the stern
countenance of Papa Sukkestad hastily closing the
window, and the music ceased abruptly.</p>

<p>It was quite enough for Peter, however, and he
walked home gaily, confident now that all would go
well.</p>

<p>Andrea went off without having spoken to Oiland,
but the post was busy between Strandvik and Kristiansfeldt,
for letters passed daily either way&mdash;while Mrs.
Sukkestad went about complaining that Andrea never
wrote home.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_213" id="Page_213" title="[Pg 213]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI<br />
EMILIE RANTZAU</h2>


<p>Old Marthe Pettersen, who had been housekeeper
to Old Nick for nearly thirty years,
had taken pneumonia and died a fortnight
after Christmas; she had at least chosen a convenient
time, having made all culinary preparations for the
festival beforehand.</p>

<p>Old Nick was inconsolable, for Selma Rordam,
whom he had got in as a temporary help, was hopelessly
incapable; either the cod would be unsalted and
insipid or she would serve it up in a liquor approaching
brine, not to speak of throwing away the best parts,
and boiling the roe to nothing. And last Sunday's
joint of beef had been so tough that he had seriously
considered sending it in to the Society for Preservation
of Ancient Relics. His breakfast eggs were constantly
hard boiled, despite his ironic inquiries as to whether
she thought he wanted them for billiard balls. And
as for sewing on buttons&mdash;for the past fourteen days
he had been reduced to boring holes in the waist of
his trousers and fastening them with bits of wood.
Everything was going wrong all round.</p>

<p>"Very inconvenient, yes," said Nachmann, called
in to discuss the situation. "But you'll see it'll come
all right in time. Now you take my advice and
advertise in the papers for someone; she's sure to<a class="pagenum" name="Page_214" id="Page_214" title="[Pg 214]"></a>
come along: 'Wanted, an ideal woman, to restore
domestic bliss.'" The pair sat down accordingly
to draft out an advertisement, each to write one out
of his own head.</p>

<p>Nachmann's, when completed, ran as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="bqheading b0">"<span class="smcap">Matrimonial.</span></p>

<p>"Bachelor, middle-aged, no children, would like to
make acquaintance of an educated lady of suitable
age&mdash;widow not objected to. Must be accustomed to
domestic duties and of bright and cheerful temperament.
Private means not so essential as amiability.
Reply to 'Earnest,' office of this paper."</p>
</div>

<p>Old Nick tore up this effusion, and inserted his own,
which said:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="bqheading b0">"<span class="smcap">Housekeeper.</span></p>

<p>"Lady, middle-aged, thoroughly capable cook and
housekeeper, wanted for elderly gentleman's house
in seaport town. Remuneration by arrangement;
ability and pleasant companionship most essential.
Particulars to 'Cookery,' c/o this paper."</p>
</div>

<p>During the week that followed Old Nick was positively
inundated with applications. There were
cook-maids, hot and cold, with years of experience
at first-class hotels; reliable women from outlying
country districts; widows from small townships up and
down the coast; while a "clergyman's daughter, aged
twenty-three," who already considered herself middle-aged,
gave Old Nick some food for thought.</p>

<p>Among all these various documents, some large, and
small, and bold, others timidly small, was a little pink<a class="pagenum" name="Page_215" id="Page_215" title="[Pg 215]"></a>
envelope addressed in a delicate hand. The letter
contained, ran as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,&mdash;In reply to your advertisement in
to-day's paper I venture to offer my services as housekeeper.
I am a widow without encumbrance, age
thirty-seven, with long experience of keeping house,
and able to undertake any reasonable work desired.</p>

<p>"I am of a bright and cheerful temper, with many
interests, musical, good reader, and would do my
utmost to make your home pleasant and comfortable
in every way.</p>

<p class="b0">"Trusting to be favoured with a reply, when further
particulars can be forwarded.&mdash;I beg to remain, yours
very truly,</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Emilie Rantzau</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>Old Nick sat for a long while staring thoughtfully
before him.</p>

<p>"Widow, thirty-seven, long experience of keeping
house, bright and cheerful temper.... I tell you
what, Nachmann, this looks like what we want."</p>

<p>"Heavens, man, but she's musical&mdash;what do you
want with that sort of thing in the house? No, no,
my friend; the devil take that widow for his housekeeper&mdash;not
you. She'd play you out of house and
home in no time, my boy."</p>

<p>"Well, you know, really, I was getting a bit sick
of old Marthe. Felt the lack of refined womanly influence
now and again. And I must say this&mdash;what's
her name&mdash;Emilie Rantzau rather appeals to me.
There's something, I don't know what to call it, about
her letter. Sort of ladylike, you know."</p>

<p>"Yes, and perfumed too, lovely, m-m-m. Patchouli!"
said Nachmann, holding the envelope to
Nickelsen's nose.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_216" id="Page_216" title="[Pg 216]"></a>
After some further deliberation Old Nick wrote to
Mrs. Emilie Rantzau, and learned that she was the
widow of a Danish artist, had spent many years
abroad, and wished now to find a position in some
small town where she could live a quiet, retired life,
occupied solely with her duties.</p>

<p>Her letters were so frank and sincere, that they
made quite an impression on Old Nick, and he decided
to engage her. She was to come on Saturday, and on
the Friday before, Nickelsen did not go to his office
at all, but stayed at home, going about dusting the
rooms with an old handkerchief.</p>

<p>Thinking the place looked rather bare, he obtained
a big palm and an indiarubber plant to brighten
things up a little.</p>

<p>He was queerly nervous and ill at ease every day,
with a feeling as if some misfortune were on the way.
What would she be like, he wondered? If the experiment
turned out a failure, there would be an end
of his domestic peace. Perhaps after all he would
have done better to stick to the Marthe type....</p>

<p>They were seated at dinner, and her fine dark eyes
played over his face.</p>

<p>"No, you must let me make the salad. I promise
you it shall be good." And she took the bowl, her
soft, delicate hand just touching his as she did so.</p>

<p>Old Nick murmured something politely, and was conscious
that he flushed up to the roots of his white mane.</p>

<p>"Queer sort of woman this." It was on the tip of
his tongue to say it aloud, but he checked himself in
time. The joint was served, and for the first time
in his life he forgot to pick out the marrow. Fancy
forgetting that! In old Marthe's time he invariably
sent for toast, and a spoon to get it out with; now he<a class="pagenum" name="Page_217" id="Page_217" title="[Pg 217]"></a>
sat attentively listening to Mrs. Rantzau's stories of
the theatre in Copenhagen.</p>

<p>"Very nice claret this of yours, Mr. Nickelsen. I
know '78 is supposed to be the best&mdash;good body they
say. Funny, isn't it, to talk of wine having a body."</p>

<p>She looked across at him with a smile, showing two
rows of fine white teeth. Then, rising, she went over
to the sideboard to show him that she too knew how to
carve a joint. Old Nick took advantage of the opportunity
to observe her more closely.</p>

<p>Dark, glistening hair, tied in what is called a
Gordian knot at the back, with a tiny curl or so
lower down, and a beautiful white neck. She was
not tall, but her figure was well rounded, and the
close-fitting dark dress showed it off to perfection.</p>

<p>Old Nick was so intent in studying her that he had
not time to look away before she turned round and
laughingly exclaimed:</p>

<p>"Well, are you afraid I shall spoil the joint?"</p>

<p>"No, indeed; I see you are an expert at carving."</p>

<p>In his confusion he upset the sauce tureen. But
Mrs. Rantzau laughed heartily, holding his arm as she
declared she must evidently have brought misfortune
in her train.</p>

<p>Old Nick had been rather uneasy at the thought of
what to say to her, but she made conversation so
easily herself that he had only to put in an odd remark
here and there: "Yes, of course, yes." "No, indeed."
"Exactly."</p>

<p>In the evening Thor Smith, Nachmann and Warden
Prois came round for their weekly game of cards.
They were all remarkably punctual to-day: the clock
had not struck seven before all three were in the hall,
and all with unfeigned curiosity plainly on their faces.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_218" id="Page_218" title="[Pg 218]"></a>
"I'm dying to see how the old man gets on with this
gay widow," said Thor Smith, touching up his hair
and tie before the glass&mdash;a nicety he had never troubled
about on previous visits to Old Nick.</p>

<p>Red paper shades had been put on the lamps, and
the table was fully laid with tea-urn, cups and saucers,
cakes and little fringed serviettes.</p>

<p>Old Nick, in a black frock-coat, advanced ceremoniously
towards them; he said very little, however,
and seemed generally rather ill at ease.</p>

<p>"Rather a change this," thought Warden Prois.
He was more accustomed to finding Old Nick on such
occasions in dressing-gown and slippers, with his old
rocking-chair drawn up, and his feet on the table.
Then, when he heard his visitors arrive, he would send
a gruff hail to the kitchen: "Marthe, you old slow-coach,
hurry up with that hot water, or I'll...."
But to-day he was as polished and precise as an old
marquis.</p>

<p>Prois glanced over towards Nachmann, and Thor
Smith in despair picked up an ancient album that
he had seen at least a hundred times before; the
only pictures in it were portraits of the former parson,
and of Pepita, a dancer, who had adorned the stage
some forty years earlier, when Old Nick was young.</p>

<p>Then Mrs. Rantzau came in. She wore a black
velvet dress, with a little red silk handkerchief
coquettishly stuck in the breast.</p>

<p>Old Nick introduced them. She was certainly
handsome, as she greeted each of the guests with a
kindly word and a smile.</p>

<p>Tea was served, and she handed a cup to Smith and
one to Prois. Nachmann had retired to the farthest
corner of the sofa, as if on his guard.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_219" id="Page_219" title="[Pg 219]"></a>
She held out a cup towards him. "Mr. Nachmann,
a cup of tea now?"</p>

<p>"Excuse me, I can drink most things made with
water, including soda, potash and Apollinaris, but
tea&mdash;no. It affects my nerves. Mr. Prois, now, is a
confirmed tea-drinker; he'll have two cups at least,
I'm sure."</p>

<p>Prois gave a furious glance at Nachmann, and
struggled desperately with some sort of cake with
currants in, and these he managed to spit out on the
sly, hiding them in his waistcoat pocket.</p>

<p>At last the toddy and the cards appeared. Mrs.
Rantzau sat close at hand, working at her embroidery,
a large piece of canvas with a design representing Diana
in the act of throwing a big spear at a retreating lion.</p>

<p>Nachmann, the only one who had retained his self-possession,
was master of the situation.</p>

<p>"Now, what's that supposed to be, may I ask?"</p>

<p>"Oh, you can see, Mr. Nachmann. I'm sure it's
plain enough."</p>

<p>"Well, now, honestly, my dear lady, I should say
that Diana there is the very image of your charming
self, and the terrified animal in the corner looks remarkably
like our host. I do hope you'll be careful with
that spear!"</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau was plainly offended, and gave him a
sharp glance of reproof from her dark eyes.</p>

<p>"Ah, now you're angry, I can see. But really it
was quite innocently meant."</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau rose and left the room hastily. There
was an awkward pause, until Thor Smith took up the
cards and began to shuffle.</p>

<p>"Water isn't hot," muttered Old Nick, clasping
both hands about the jug.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_220" id="Page_220" title="[Pg 220]"></a>
"Only wait a little, old boy, and you'll find it hot
enough, or I'm much mistaken. Ah, well, such is life
without a wife.... Here, I say, where's your head
to-night, Nickelsen. Bless my soul, if you haven't
given them the game!"</p>

<p>Old Nick complained of headache that evening,
and the party broke up earlier than usual. So early,
indeed, that Thor Smith had scarcely finished his first
glass, or the first cataract, as he called it, whereas
ordinarily the third would be reached and passed in
the course of the evening's play.</p>

<p>The three friends walked home together, all very
serious, and greatly troubled in mind as to Old Nick's
future.</p>

<p>Prois in particular took a most gloomy view. "It's
a dangerous age for that sort of thing; comes on
suddenly, before you know where you are." He was
thinking of his own experiences in that direction; it
was only four years since he had been wild to marry
that young governess at the Abrahamsens', the disaster,
however, being fortunately averted by the intervention
of Pedersen, the telegraphist, who cut in and won her
before he, Prois, had screwed himself up to the question.</p>

<p>Old Nick hardly knew the place again when he
came down to breakfast next morning, to find Mrs.
Rantzau presiding at table in a pink morning-gown
and dainty shoes. The walls were decorated with
Chinese paper fans in flowery designs, and Japanese
parasols; the sofas had been moved out at all angles
about the room. A big palm waved above his writing-table,
and all the papers on it were neatly arranged in
two piles of equal size, one on either hand.</p>

<p>At sight of this his blood began to boil; his writing-table
was sacred; no human hand but his own had<a class="pagenum" name="Page_221" id="Page_221" title="[Pg 221]"></a>
touched it for the past forty years. Old Marthe
herself, when dusting the room, had been as shy of
coming near it as if it had been a red-hot stove. Nevertheless,
Old Nick found himself unable to say a word;
Mrs. Rantzau's smile and her dark eyes threw him into
utter confusion.</p>

<p>One day, happening to come in for some papers, he
found her in the act of taking the documents of a case
pending&mdash;"Strandvik Postal Authorities <i>v.</i> Holmestrand
Town Council"&mdash;to clean the lamps with. But
here he was obliged to put his foot down and protest.
If he could not trust his papers to be left in safety on
his table, why, he might as well move out of the house.</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau looked at him with great imploring
eyes, and was so contrite; he must forgive her, she
was so dreadfully stupid; she had no idea that papers
could be so important.</p>

<p>Old Nick could not help smiling, and peace was
restored, on condition that for the future only newspapers
should be used for cleaning purposes. This
naturally led to Old Nick's finding the one particular
journal he wanted to read after dinner had been
sacrificed.</p>

<p>She was undeniably handsome, however, especially
in that pink morning-gown as she sat at the breakfast-table,
while Old Nick revived his early memories and
endeavoured to play the youthful cavalier.</p>

<p>Friends of the house were soon thoroughly convinced
that Old Nick was done for; the widow had captivated
him beyond recall. Thor Smith, thinking a warning
might yet be in time, sent him anonymously the
following lines:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"Be careful of taking a widow to wife,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She'll lighten your purse and burden your life."<br /></span>
<a class="pagenum" name="Page_222" id="Page_222" title="[Pg 222]"></a></div></div>

<p>Nickelsen, however, recognised the writing, and
promptly sent back a reply:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"Best thanks for your advice, my friend,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">'Twas really kind of you to send;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But still, considering whence it came,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I can manage without it all the same.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So keep your triplets, one&mdash;two&mdash;three,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A widow without is enough for me!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>A grand ball was to be held at the Town Hall, in
aid of the Fund for National Defence. Old Nick had
no intention of going himself, but Mrs. Rantzau
pointed out that it was his duty, as a loyal and
patriotic citizen, to attend. Accordingly, albeit not
without considerable hesitation, he decided to go.
She tied his dress-bow for him, and put a red rosebud
with a tip of fern in his buttonhole. She herself, with
Old Nick in attendance, sailed into the ballroom like
a queen, with pearls in her hair, and her dark blue
silk dress fitting like the corslet of a Valkyrie.</p>

<p>The company made way for her involuntarily, and
she was placed at the upper end of the hall, between
Mrs. Jansen and Mrs. Heidt. The last named lady,
who was ceremonious and reserved by nature, besides
being conscious of representing the aristocracy of the
town, was chilliness itself towards this newly risen
star. Mrs. Jansen, on the other hand, a kindly soul,
felt obliged to show her some little attention, and
introduced her to a number of those present.</p>

<p>Dr. Stromberg, a middle-aged bachelor, had the
reputation of falling in love with every new specimen
of the fair sex he encountered. True to his character,
he at once attached himself to Mrs. Rantzau, whose
conquest of Strandvik was thus begun.</p>

<p>Old Nick sat in a corner talking to Winter, the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_223" id="Page_223" title="[Pg 223]"></a>
Customs Officer, his eyes incessantly following the
blue silk gown as it passed. His old heart was so
restless and unruly, he began to wonder seriously if
something had gone wrong with the internal mechanism.
Cards, drinks, old friends, all were forgotten that
evening he had no thought but for that figure in the
blue silk dress that was ever before his eyes. He had
experienced hallucinations before, when things seemed
to dance round and round, but to-night, with nothing
stronger than soda water&mdash;neat&mdash;it was past all
comprehension.</p>

<p>In a circle of men, old and young, stood Emilie
Rantzau, smiling and alert. She was sought after at
every dance, until Mrs. Thor Smith, née Tulla Prois,
observed indignantly that one might think the men
had never seen a woman from another town before&mdash;and
Heaven only knew what sort of a creature this
one was. Mrs. Jansen herself began to be rather
uneasy, when she saw her husband lead out the widow
as his partner for the lancers&mdash;or "lunchers" as
Cilia Braaten called it. And matters were not
improved when the Consul started talking French
with Mrs. Rantzau at supper, of which his wife did
not understand a word.</p>

<p>"She's charming, my dear, a most interesting
woman, and speaks French like an educated
Parisienne," said Jansen to his wife.</p>

<p>Poor Mrs. Jansen was beginning to experience the
pangs of jealousy, and determined to purchase a
<i>French made Easy</i> the very next day.</p>

<p>"Bless my soul, if there isn't Justice Heidt asking
the angelic widow for a dance," exclaimed Thor
Smith, pulling Nachmann by the sleeve.</p>

<p>"Angelic widow's good," said Nachmann. "But<a class="pagenum" name="Page_224" id="Page_224" title="[Pg 224]"></a>
there's angels and angels, you know. And they'd
have to be a bit on the dusky side to pair off with
Old Nick, what?"</p>

<p>Mrs. Heidt got up and went into an adjoining room,
sending her husband a glance as she passed which
sobered him considerably for the moment. It was
not long, however, before the brilliant dark eyes had
made him forget both his dignity and his domestic
obligations.</p>

<p>Old Nick was very taciturn that evening as he
walked home with Mrs. Rantzau. She, however,
laughed and joked, and told stories of "all those silly
old men" with such wit and good humour that he
was forced to admit it would have been a pity not to
have gone to the ball. "Yes, a very jolly evening;
very nice indeed, yes."</p>

<p>On the following day the "angelic widow" and
her conquests at the ball were the general topic of
conversation. The ladies, old and young, married
and the reverse, agreed that she was detestable, and
were sure there must be something "queer" about
her. Mrs. Heidt and Mrs. Knap had a two hours'
consultation together, at the end of which it was
decided that no effort should be spared to check
"that woman's" further encroachment upon local
society.</p>

<p>All the men, with exception of Thor Smith and Nachmann,
were enthusiastic in praise of the new arrival,
and her popularity on that side was assured.</p>

<p>Emilie Rantzau, however, had her own plans, and
let people talk as they pleased.</p>

<p>One day she astonished Mrs. Jansen by calling on
her with a proposal that the ladies of the town should
get up a bazaar in aid of the Seamen's Families Relief<a class="pagenum" name="Page_225" id="Page_225" title="[Pg 225]"></a>
Fund. On another occasion she went to Mrs. Heidt,
and begged her to support the National Women's
Movement; she also invited Governor Abrahamsen
to help start a society for helping ex-convicts to
turn over a new leaf. Even Klementsen was urged
to help her in getting up a subscription for a new
altar-piece.</p>

<p>In addition to these more or less philanthropic
movements, she arranged excursions to the country
round, the beauties of which, she declared, were not
appreciated as they should be, and further, obtained
the assistance of Consul Jansen in forming a Society
for the Furtherance of the Tourist Traffic in Strandvik
and Neighbourhood.</p>

<p>The Consul was delighted with the idea, and vowed
he must have been blind not to have discovered earlier
the natural beauties of the neighbourhood. He gave
a grand champagne supper and proposed Mrs.
Rantzau's health in a speech, concluding by comparing
that lady to "a breath of ocean fresh and
free." The toast was received with acclamation.</p>

<p>Altogether, the upper circles of Strandvik society
were thrown into a state of unprecedented excitement
and activity.</p>

<p>Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen vied
with one another in their efforts to outdo Mrs. Rantzau;
they would show her at least that they were as good
as she.</p>

<p>It was a fight to the bitter end.</p>

<p>Societies were started, with "evenings" after,
where Emilie Rantzau's plans were discussed.</p>

<p>Mrs. Heidt thought and thought till she grew giddy
and had to have hot fomentations of an evening;
the unusual mental effort had brought on insomnia.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_226" id="Page_226" title="[Pg 226]"></a>
Sukkerstad hoped to find in Mrs. Rantzau an ally to
the cause of temperance, and paid her a ceremonial
call, in company with Watchmaker Rordam, who, a
short while back, had suddenly joined the Temperance
Association, "Strandvik's Pride." And the pair of
them explained to her, with all the eloquence at their
command, how greatly her patronage would be appreciated
by all.</p>

<p>Emilie Rantzau, however, hardly thought her own
interests in the town would be greatly furthered by
closer association with Sukkerstad and his circle; on
the other hand, it was just as well to keep on good
terms with all sections of local society. She therefore
informed the deputation that she would think over
the matter, and assured them meanwhile of her
earnest sympathy with the good cause.</p>

<p>The same day she hurried up to Consul Jansen,
switched on her eloquent dark eyes, and suggested
that the Temperance Movement was one they ought
to support, but that the best way of doing so would
be to get up a little subscription, and raise enough for
an excursion&mdash;a steamer trip for the afternoon, with
tea and lemonade. "It would look well, you know,
and all that&mdash;and get them off our hands for a bit,"
she added meaningly.</p>

<p>No one could refuse her, and in the course of one
afternoon she managed to collect eight pounds, which
she dispatched to Sukkerstad and Rordam for the
purpose indicated. Sukkerstad was so enthusiastic in
his appreciation that he determined to convene a
meeting of the committee and propose a vote of thanks
and an address.</p>

<p>All the members turned up, with the exception of
Rordam, who, in his joy at the eight pounds, had given<a class="pagenum" name="Page_227" id="Page_227" title="[Pg 227]"></a>
way to a sudden relapse, which rendered him incapable
of further temperance work for the time being.</p>

<p>After some discussion, the committee decided to
purchase a portrait of Mrs. Rantzau from the photographer,
and hang it up in their hall; this was voted
preferable to the address.</p>

<p>Mrs. Heidt was beginning to lag behind; it was
impossible to keep pace with a woman of such untiring
energy and initiative as Mrs. Rantzau.</p>

<p>Four ladies were gathered one day in her drawing-room,
to talk over what was to be done; they could
not suffer themselves to be set aside like this. What
they wanted was some grand idea, something to
vanquish the enemy at a single blow, and show the
rest of the town that Emilie Rantzau was not wanted.</p>

<p>It was Mrs. Knap who had the happy thought&mdash;the
Peace Movement. The cause of universal peace was
surely one which nobody in Strandvik could refuse
to aid.</p>

<p>Mrs. Abrahamsen was more inclined to concentrate
on a bazaar and lottery in aid of the proposed crematorium,
which institution she regarded as most desirable
from the humane, the sanitary and various other
points of view.</p>

<p>Mrs. Knap protested energetically against the idea;
she had recently had an accident with a box of matches,
which had gone off suddenly and burnt her hand. She
for her part would have nothing more to do with
burning&mdash;for the present, at any rate.</p>

<p>Finally, after some heated argument, it was agreed
that a grand harvest festival should be held, the
proceeds to be devoted to the cause of universal
peace.</p>

<p>Emilie Rantzau was to be kept out of it altogether;<a class="pagenum" name="Page_228" id="Page_228" title="[Pg 228]"></a>
they would not have her help in the arrangements,
not a contribution&mdash;not so much as a bunch of flowers
was to come from her; it was to be a festival "for
ourselves and by ourselves." The old ladies were
already triumphant; this intriguing minx, this person
from nowhere, who had tried to force herself into
society, should be made to feel their power and her
own insignificance. The festival was to be held in the
park on Sunday, from five to nine; there would be
illuminations, coloured lanterns, fireworks and so
on. Singing,&mdash;male and female choir,&mdash;lecture by a
Professor from Christiania, recitation by a famous
actor, solos by an amateur and an "amatrice"&mdash;it
was a programme so magnificent that the whole town
was amazed.</p>

<p>Meantime, Mrs. Rantzau sat quietly at home, in her
pink morning-gown, pouring out coffee for Nickelsen.
She was very quiet and gentle in manner&mdash;there was
a curious atmosphere about the situation generally.</p>

<p>There lay the morning papers, white, uncrumpled,
untouched. The coffee now seethed gently in little
regular gasps, like a school-mistress out on a mountaineering
expedition; the sun peeped in through the
windows, casting gay gleams over Old Nick's white
mop of hair and Emilie's raven locks.</p>

<p>"Why shouldn't I be happy the few years I've still
to live? And who is to have my money when I'm
gone?" Old Nick sat staring absently before him.</p>

<p>She bent over towards him, handing his cup; he
felt her soft, curling tresses close to his cheek, and her
hand just touched his own.</p>

<p>"Mrs. Rantzau!" he exclaimed, flushing as he
spoke; his voice was unsteady.</p>

<p>"Why, how serious you are all of a sudden! You<a class="pagenum" name="Page_229" id="Page_229" title="[Pg 229]"></a>
quite frightened me," she said, with a laugh, looking
up at him innocently.</p>

<p>"Mrs. Rantzau," he began again, "do you know
that poem of Byronson, that&mdash;that begins:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus2">"'When blushing blood,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In humble mood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Turns to the man whose mind is proved,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When timid, shy<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She seeks....'"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"Lord bless me, old boy, spouting poetry so early
in the morning! Did you think it was Constitution
Day&mdash;or the day after?"</p>

<p>Old Nick looked round anything but amiably at
Nachmann's unbeautiful face smiling in the doorway;
Mrs. Rantzau left the room without a word.</p>

<p>A long and earnest conference ensued between the
two men, after which they went out for a long walk
together.</p>

<p>Emilie Rantzau felt now that her position was
secure; it was only a question of time before she could
appear as Mrs. Nickelsen. And inwardly she vowed
vengeance on the women who had systematically
excluded her from the Peace Festival; she pondered
how best to get even with Mrs. Heidt and the rest.</p>

<p>It took a deal of thinking out, but at last she hit
upon a way. Quickly she put on her things, and
hurried round to her faithful supporter, Consul Jansen.</p>

<p>On Saturday evening, the <i>Strandvik News</i> appeared,
and created an indescribable sensation throughout the
town by printing immediately under the big announcement
of the festival in the park, the following lines:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="spacewords center italic b0">"N.B.   N.B.</p>

<p>"After the conclusion of the festival, an impromptu<a class="pagenum" name="Page_230" id="Page_230" title="[Pg 230]"></a>
dance for young people will take place in the Town
Hall. Tickets, three shillings each. The surplus will
be devoted to the Society for Tending Sick and
Wounded in the Field. Mrs. Emma Jansen and
Mrs. Emilie Rantzau have kindly consented to act as
hostesses."</p>
</div>

<p>Mrs. Heidt started up in a fury, and declared it was
a disgraceful piece of trickery on the part of that
Emilie Rantzau. She could forgive Mrs. Jansen,
perhaps, as being too much of a simpleton herself to
see through the artful meanness of the whole thing.</p>

<p>On Sunday evening, after the festival, all the young
people and a number of the older ones flocked to the
Town Hall, where Mrs. Rantzau received them with
her most winning smile.</p>

<p>Mrs. Heidt, Mrs. Knap and Mrs. Abrahamsen went
each to their several homes, boiling with indignation;
they had not even been invited to look on.</p>

<p>Some few there were, perhaps, who failed to see any
immediate connection between a Peace Festival and
the Society for Tending Sick and Wounded in the Field,
but all enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and that, after
all, was the main thing.</p>

<p>Emilie Rantzau was the queen of the ball, and well
aware of it. She felt she had vanquished her rivals
now, and was left in victorious possession of the field.
One thing, however, caused her some slight anxiety,
and that was that Nickelsen did not put in an appearance,
though he had promised to come on later&mdash;what
could it mean?</p>

<p>Old Nick was sitting at home, deep in thought,
and with him were Thor Smith, Nachmann and
Warden Prois.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_231" id="Page_231" title="[Pg 231]"></a>
"You must see and get clear of this, Nickelsen,"
said Prois warmly, laying one hand on his shoulder.</p>

<p>"Yes, I suppose I must. But the worst of it is,
I've got fond of her, you see, and I've been hoping
she'd brighten up the few years I've got left."</p>

<p>"I know, I know," said Prois. "I've been through
exactly the same thing myself, a few years back, but,
thanks to Providence, I got out of it all right."</p>

<p>"Don't blame it on Providence, Warden," put
in Nachmann. "It was that telegraph fellow you
had to thank for cutting you out."</p>

<p>"It's not a matter for joking," said Prois sharply;
and Nachmann withdrew to a corner of the sofa,
quite depressed by the seriousness of the situation.</p>

<p>Thor Smith could stand it no longer; this unwonted
solemnity was too much for him. He slipped
out into the hall, and, sitting down on an old leather
trunk, laughed till he cried.</p>

<p>There was a long conference at Old Nick's that
evening, and it was one o'clock before he faithfully
promised to follow his friends' advice, and thrust out
Emilie Rantzau from his house and heart.</p>

<p>How this was to be accomplished must be decided
later; meantime the conspirators would take it in
turn to dine with Old Nick and spend the rest of the
day with him, to guard against any backsliding.</p>

<p>Old Nick agreed to it all, helplessly as a child.</p>

<p>How could they get her to go? The question was
argued and discussed, but no one could hit upon any
reasonable plan. At last they decided to call in
Peter Oiland, who had lately been on terms of intimacy
with Old Nick, and see what he could do.</p>

<p>Peter Oiland put on a serious face, and looked
doubtfully over at Prois, whose mind was becoming<a class="pagenum" name="Page_232" id="Page_232" title="[Pg 232]"></a>
almost unhinged by these everlasting conferences and
endless discussions, while the seriousness of the situation
forbade any over-hasty steps.</p>

<p>"Well, we can't very well turn her out by force,"
said Peter Oiland. "The only thing to do is to try
and get at the soft side of her: an appeal to the
heart, you understand."</p>

<p>"H'm; her heart's like the drawers in my store,"
said Nachmann. "In and out according to what's
wanted."</p>

<p>Peter Oiland determined nevertheless to make an
attempt. He would say nothing for the present as
to the details of his plan; he had an idea, and hoped
it might succeed.</p>

<p>Meantime, Emilie Rantzau continued her triumphant
progress; she was leading society in Strandvik. Her
dresses, her manner, were a standing topic among
the ladies of the town, who hated and admired her
at once. She on her part was happy enough, but at a
loss to understand why Nickelsen was so unpardonably
tardy in making his declaration; still, it could
only be a question of time; she felt safe enough.</p>

<p>One day there came a letter from Christiania, which
in a flash threw Strandvik and its entire society into
the background. It ran as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Emilie Rantzau</span>,&mdash;Years, many years,
have passed since we last met. Do you remember
a fair young man whom you often saw at Mrs. Moller's,
when you were a boarder there as a girl? But there
were so many of us young students who were all more
or less in love with you at that time, and I hardly
dare suppose you would have any special recollection
of my humble self. It would be only natural that<a class="pagenum" name="Page_233" id="Page_233" title="[Pg 233]"></a>
you should have forgotten. But I have never, never
forgotten Emilie Storm, as you were then.</p>

<p>"I was poor and unknown at the time, and poor,
alas, I remained for many years, until at last I had no
longer any hope of meeting you again, as I had
dreamed&mdash;yet I have followed your career, and
kept myself informed as to your circumstances. I
learned of your husband's death, and that you are
now obliged to earn your livelihood as housekeeper
to an old bachelor in a little out-of-the-way place.</p>

<p>"To think that you&mdash;you, Emilie, who have never
for a single day been absent from my thoughts, should
be wasting away your life among the yokels of an
insignificant seaport town.</p>

<p>"And I&mdash;I am alone and lonely now, back at home
after many long years of toil in the great cities of
Europe, and the fortune I have made is useless to
me. For money cannot purchase happiness, or bring
back the dreams of youth.</p>

<p>"Emilie, shall we try to come together? Shall we
renew our old acquaintance, and see if we can find
that mutual sympathy which binds one life to
another?</p>

<p class="b0">"If you are willing, then let us meet. My name
you need not know. I should prefer you to find me
as I am now, not as the ardent youth I was when
first we met, but as a man, sobered by trials and
experience, who has nevertheless maintained the
ideals of early days unscathed throughout the battle
of life. You may reply to</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Abraham Hertz</span>.</p>

<p>"<span class="smcap">Poste restante, Christiania.</span>"</p>
</div>

<p>She read the letter through a dozen times at least,
and sat puzzling her brains to try and recollect a<a class="pagenum" name="Page_234" id="Page_234" title="[Pg 234]"></a>
"fair young man," who had been one of her admirers
at Mrs. Moller's. She could make nothing of it. She
had been only seventeen at the time, and had had
such a host of admirers before and since; it was too
much to expect that she should recollect them all.</p>

<p>But was it meant in earnest now, or was the whole
thing a vulgar hoax?</p>

<p>This lawyer of hers was but a poor creature after
all; red-nosed, almost a dotard&mdash;ugh! To think of
getting away from it all and go to Christiania, perhaps
Paris, Vienna, Rome&mdash;away! And then to be rich&mdash;rich!
Poverty was a dreadful thing to face, dreadful
even to think of. Was she to grow old, and ugly,
and poor?</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">Mr. Abraham Hertz</span>,&mdash;Your kind letter received.
I set great store by old friends, and should therefore
be glad to renew the acquaintance, but must confess
that I am unwilling to enter upon a correspondence
with one who remains anonymous. How can I be
sure that I am not exposing myself to a mischievous
practical joke?</p>

<p class="b0">"I should be glad of a photo, in order if possible
to identify the 'fair young man.'</p>

<p class="sig">"E. R."</p>
</div>

<p>Two days later came a registered letter.</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">Mrs. Emilie Rantzau</span>,&mdash;How could you ever
think I was joking? However, that you may no longer
doubt for a moment the seriousness of my intentions,
I enclose £50, with the request that you will come to
Christiania as soon as possible. If you will put up at
Mrs. Irving's <i>pension</i>, I will meet you there.</p>

<p class="b0">"Enclosed is a photo of the fair young man, but<a class="pagenum" name="Page_235" id="Page_235" title="[Pg 235]"></a>
for Heaven's sake do not imagine that it resembles
your admirer now, with his eight-and-forty years.&mdash;Au
revoir.</p>

<p class="sig">"A. H."</p>
</div>

<p>Emilie had never handled a £50 note before in her
life. She spread it out on the table, smoothing it with
her fingers so tenderly that Old Nick, had he seen
her, would have been frantic with jealousy. She even
kissed the portrait of His Majesty in the corners before
hiding the note away in her breast.</p>

<p>Old Nick was utterly astonished when Mrs. Rantzau
informed him that she found herself compelled to
leave Strandvik, the air, unfortunately, did not agree
with her. She seemed, too, remarkably cool in her
manner towards him; her customary smile had faded
somewhat, and her ardent eyes, that had been wont
to focus themselves upon his own, seemed now to
flicker vaguely in no particular direction.</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau's sudden departure occasioned much
comment. Her most faithful admirer, Consul Jansen,
turned up with a big bunch of flowers, and hoisted the
flag in his garden at half-mast.</p>

<p>Old Nick, of course, went down to the quay to see
her off. As a matter of fact, however, he was now
beginning to find the situation rather humorous&mdash;a
symptom which Thor Smith diagnosed as indicating
that his old friend was well on the way at least to
convalescence, if not to complete recovery.</p>

<p>Mrs. Rantzau stood on the upper deck in her dark
blue dress, with the little toque coquettishly aslant on
her head. She waved her handkerchief, and Consul
Jansen cried: "<i lang="fr">Adieu, au revoir!</i>"</p>

<p>"<span lang="fr">Merci, Monsieur le Consul; je regrette que vous
soyez obligé de rester ici parmi ces dromadaires-ci.</span>"<a class="pagenum" name="Page_236" id="Page_236" title="[Pg 236]"></a>
That was Emilie Rantzau's farewell to Strandvik.
As for Old Nick, she did not even grant him so much
as a nod.</p>

<p>On the way home he encountered a procession of
urchins, ragged, bare-legged and boisterous, waving
Japanese fans and Chinese parasols&mdash;properties which
he seemed to recognise.</p>

<p>"Here, you boys, where did you get those things
from?"</p>

<p>"Mr. Nachmann gave us them. He threw them out
of Nickelsen's window," cried the youngsters in
chorus.</p>

<p>"H'm," grunted Old Nick. "Very funny...."
and he stalked on his way.</p>

<p>Nachmann and Prois were busy moving the sofas
back against the wall, and restoring the card-table to
its former place.</p>

<p>"Here, what do you think you're doing?" shouted
Nickelsen from the doorway.</p>

<p>"Salvage Corps, getting ready for a little party,"
said the Warden dryly.</p>

<p>That evening Old Nick's little circle of friends
assembled at his house. Cards and the tray of glasses
were laid out as in the old days. The host, in his
old brown dressing-gown, sat with his slippered feet
up on the table, and puffed at his long-stemmed pipe.</p>

<p>"Well, you may think yourself lucky to have got
out of that as you did," said Nachmann, touching Old
Nick's glass with his own.</p>

<p>"I can't think what made her go off like that, all
of a sudden," said Old Nick, almost wistfully.</p>

<p>"You can thank Peter Oiland for that," said Thor
Smith.</p>

<p>"Peter Oiland?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_237" id="Page_237" title="[Pg 237]"></a>
"Yes, it was he that got her away. What about
those letters you sent her, Oiland? What did you
say in them?"</p>

<p>"H'm," said Oiland, with a serious air. "My dear
friends, it is ill jesting with affairs of the heart. Emilie
Rantzau's secret is locked for ever in my breast."
And he gazed reflectively into his glass as he stirred
his grog.</p>

<p>"How did you manage to get them sent from Christiania?"</p>

<p>"Posted them myself when I was in with Sukkestad,
my respected father-in-law to be, buying furniture."</p>

<p>"But the photo, and Mrs. Moller's, and all that?"</p>

<p>"Well, the photo was one Maria Sukkestad gave me
last year of her beloved spouse&mdash;taken years ago, when
they were engaged."</p>

<p>"Oh, Peter, you're a marvel! But suppose she'd
recognised him?"</p>

<p>"I hardly think she could," said Oiland dryly.</p>

<p>"But how did you know about Mrs. Moller's?"</p>

<p>"She told Mrs. Jansen she'd stayed there, and I
heard about it after. But all that was easy enough.
The worst thing was, it came so expensive&mdash;£50 is a
lot of money," and he sighed.</p>

<p>"£50?" said Nickelsen, looking up sharply. "What
do you mean?"</p>

<p>Thor Smith rapped his glass, and said with mock
solemnity:</p>

<p>"Our efforts in the cause of freedom having met
with the success they deserve, we naturally look to
you, as the intended victim, for reimbursement of all
costs incurred in effecting your deliverance. And we
hope after this you'll have the sense to know when
you're well off, and not go running your head into a<a class="pagenum" name="Page_238" id="Page_238" title="[Pg 238]"></a>
noose again, old man. Three cheers for Old Nick&mdash;hurrah!"</p>

<p>It was a festive evening, culminating in a song
written specially for the occasion:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"Our dear Old Nick is a queer old stick,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And a bachelor gay was he,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till the widow's charms occasioned alarms,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">In the rest of the Company.<br /></span>
<span class="i1">This will never do, said we,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">We must settle affairs with she,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So we played for Old Nick, and we won the trick,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">And a bachelor still is he&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Give it with three times three&mdash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A bachelor gay, and we hope he may<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Continue so to be!"<br /></span>
<a class="pagenum" name="Page_239" id="Page_239" title="[Pg 239]"></a></div></div>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII<br />
THE <i>EVA MARIA</i></h2>


<p>"Close on seven-and-thirty years now since I
came aboard as skipper of the <i>Eva Maria</i>,
and you can understand, Nils Petter, it's a
bit queer like for me to be handing her over now to
anyone else," said old Bernt Jorgensen solemnly. His
brother, Nils Petter, listened respectfully.</p>

<p>"Never a thing gone wrong. I've always been able
to reckon out exactly what the four trips to Scotland
and Holland each summer brought in; but then, as you
know, Nils Petter, I didn't go dangling about on shore
with the other skippers, throwing money away on
whisky and such-like trash."</p>

<p>"No, you've always been a steady one," said Nils
Petter quietly.</p>

<p>"Ay, steady it is, and steady it's got to be, and
keep a proper account of everything. In winter, when
I was at home with the mother, I'd always go through
all expenses I'd had the summer past; that way I
could keep an eye on every little thing."</p>

<p>"Ay, you've been careful enough about little things,
that's true. I remember that tar bucket we threw
overboard once. We never heard the last of it all
that winter."</p>

<p>"It's just that very thing, Nils Petter, that I've got<a class="pagenum" name="Page_240" id="Page_240" title="[Pg 240]"></a>
to thank for having a bit laid by, or anyhow, the <i>Eva
Maria's</i> free of debt, and that's all I ask." Old Bernt
was not anxious to go into details as to the nice little
sum he had laid up with Van Hegel in Amsterdam,
not to speak of the little private banking account that
had been growing so steadily for years.</p>

<p>"Not but that I've need enough to earn a little
more," he went on; "but I've made up my mind
now to give up the sea, though it's hard to leave the
old <i>Eva Maria</i> that's served me so well."</p>

<p>Bernt Jorgensen had been very doubtful about
handing over the vessel to Nils Petter's command.
Nils was a good seaman enough, but with one serious
failing: he invariably ran riot when he got ashore,
and there was no holding him.</p>

<p>Still, Nils Petter was his only brother, and perhaps
when he found himself skipper he would come to feel
the responsibility of his position, and improve accordingly.
Anyhow, one could but try it.</p>

<p>Nils Petter stood watching his brother attentively,
as the latter solemnly concluded: "Well, you're
skipper of the <i>Eva Maria</i> from now on, Nils Petter, and
I hope and trust you'll bear in mind the duty you owe
to God and your owners."</p>

<p>Nils Petter grasped his brother's hand and shook
it so heartily that Bernt could feel it for days&mdash;it was
at any rate a reminder that Nils Petter had serious
intentions of reforming.</p>

<p>But Nils Petter was the happy man! First of all,
he had to go ashore and tell the good news to his old
friend, Trina Thoresen, who, it may be noted, had
been one of his former sweethearts. She had married
Thoresen as the only means of avoiding a scandal,
and murmured resignedly as she did so: "Ah, well,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_241" id="Page_241" title="[Pg 241]"></a>
it can't be helped. Nils Petter can't marry us all,
poor fellow!"</p>

<p>Nils Petter's large, round face was one comprehensive
smile, and his huge fists all but crushed the life out
of Schoolmaster Pedersen, who was impudent enough
to offer his hand in congratulation. "Skipper!"
said Nils Petter. "Captain, you mean&mdash;he&mdash;he!"
and he laughed till the houses echoed half-way up the
street, and Mrs. Pedersen looked out of the window
to see what all the noise was about.</p>

<p>Nils Petter was undoubtedly the most popular
character in the town; he was intimate with every
one, regardless of sex or social standing.</p>

<p>"A cheery, good-natured soul," was the general
estimate of Nils Petter&mdash;somewhat too cheery, perhaps,
at times; but never so much so that he abused his
gigantic strength, of which wonderful stories were
told. At any rate it took a great deal to move him
to anger.</p>

<p>He was in constant difficulties about money, for
as often as he had any to spare, he would give it away
or lend it. Now and again, when especially hard up,
he would apply to his "rich brother" as he called
him, and never failed to receive assistance, together
with a long sermon on the evils of extravagance,
which he listened to most penitently, but the meaning
of which he had never to this day been able to realise
himself.</p>

<p>Well, now we shall see how he got on as officer in
command of the <i>Eva Maria</i>, <i>vice</i> that careful old
model of a skipper, Bernt Jorgensen. The vessel
was fixed for Dundee, with a cargo of battens from
Drammen, and Bernt had himself seen to everything
in the matter of stores and provisions, etc., according<a class="pagenum" name="Page_242" id="Page_242" title="[Pg 242]"></a>
to the old régime. Nils Petter certainly found the
supplies of meat and drink on board a trifle scanty&mdash;drink,
especially so. Six bottles of fruit syrup&mdash;h'm.
Nils Petter thought he might at least make a
cautious suggestion. "Say, Brother Bernt, you're
sure you haven't forgotten anything. Fresh meat,
for instance, and a bottle or so of spirits?"</p>

<p>"Never has been spirits on board the <i>Eva Maria</i>,"
answered Bernt shortly. And Nils Petter was obliged
to sail with fruit syrup instead.</p>

<p>Just outside Horten, however, they were becalmed,
and the <i>Eva Maria</i> anchored up accordingly.</p>

<p>"D'you know this place at all, Ola?" said Nils
Petter to his old friend Ola Simonsen, the boatswain,
as they got the anchor down.</p>

<p>"Surely, Captain&mdash;know it? Why, I was here with
the old <i>Desideria</i> serving my time."</p>

<p>"Right you are, then. We'll get out the boat and
go on shore first for a look round."</p>

<p>It was late that night when they returned, Nils
Petter at the oars, and Ola sleeping the sleep of the
just in the bottom of the boat. Nils Petter was
singing and laughing so he could be heard half a mile
off. After considerable effort he managed to hoist
the boatswain over the vessel's side, the whole crew
laughing uproariously, including Nils Petter himself,
who was quite pleased with the whole adventure, and
cared not a jot for discipline and his dignity as skipper.</p>

<p>Ola Simonsen having been safely deposited on board,
Nils Petter handed up a number of items in addition.
One large joint of beef, six pork sausages, one ham,
one case of tinned provisions, and one marked significantly,
"Glass: with care."</p>

<p>Towards morning a light, northerly breeze sprang<a class="pagenum" name="Page_243" id="Page_243" title="[Pg 243]"></a>
up, and they weighed anchor again. Nils Petter,
instead of pacing the after-part with his hands behind
his back, as became the dignity of a captain, came
forward and took up his post beside the windlass,
sent the rest of the crew briskly about their business,
and fell to singing with the full force of his lungs, till
the agent on the quay went in for his glasses to see
what was happening.</p>

<p>Nils Petter was the very opposite of his brother,
who would make a whole voyage without saying a
word to his crew except to give the necessary orders.
Nils Petter, on the other hand, chatted with the men
and lent a hand with the work like any ordinary
seaman. Altogether, the relations between captain
and crew were such as would have been thoroughly
pleasant and cordial ashore.</p>

<p>There were beefsteaks for dinner as long as the beef
lasted out, and Nils Petter shared in brotherly fashion
with the rest&mdash;there was no distinction of rank on
board in that respect; it was an ideal socialistic
Utopia!</p>

<p>The case marked "Glass: with care" was opened,
and each helped himself at will, till only the straw
packing remained. It was a cheery, comfortable life
on board, as all agreed, not least Nils Petter, who
laughed and sang the whole day long. No one had
ever dreamed of such a state of things on board the
<i>Eva Maria</i>, least of all Bernt Jorgensen, who was
fortunately in ignorance of the idyllic conditions now
prevailing in his beloved ship.</p>

<p>The only occasion throughout the voyage when any
real dissension arose between Nils Petter and his crew
was when opening one of the tins brought on board
at Horten. The contents defied identification despite<a class="pagenum" name="Page_244" id="Page_244" title="[Pg 244]"></a>
the most careful scrutiny. The label certainly said
"Russian Caviare," but Nils Petter and the rest were
none the wiser for that. A general council was accordingly
held, with as much solemnity as if the lives of all
were in peril on the sea.</p>

<p>"I've a sort of idea the man in the shop said eat it
raw," ventured Nils Petter.</p>

<p>Ola Simonsen was reckless enough to try.</p>

<p>"Ugh&mdash;pugh&mdash;urrrgh!" he spluttered. "Of all
the...."</p>

<p>"Itsch&mdash;hitch&mdash;huh!" said Thoresen, the mate.
"Better trying cooking it, I think." (This Thoresen,
by the way, was the husband of Trina Thoresen, before
mentioned, and a good friend of Nils Petter, who, in
moments of exaltation would call him brother-in-law,
which Thoresen never seemed to mind in the least.)</p>

<p>While the tin of caviare was under discussion, all on
board, from the ship's boy to the captain, were
assembled in the forecastle, intent on the matter in
hand. So much so, indeed, that the <i>Eva Maria</i>, then
left to her own devices, sailed slap into a schooner
laden with coal, that was rude enough to get in her
way.</p>

<p>Fortunately, no great damage was done beyond
carrying away the schooner's jib-boom, and matters
were settled amicably with the schooner's captain,
whom Nils Petter presented with an odd spar he
happened to have on deck and the six bottles of fruit
syrup, which he was only too pleased to get rid of.
And the <i>Eva Maria</i> continued her course in the same
cheerful spirit as heretofore.</p>

<p>Nils Petter's first exploit on arriving at Dundee was
to send the harbour-master headlong into the dock,
whence he was with difficulty dragged out. He got<a class="pagenum" name="Page_245" id="Page_245" title="[Pg 245]"></a>
off with a fine of £20, which was entered in the ship's
accounts as "unforeseen expenses."</p>

<p>Those on board found themselves comfortable
enough, the skipper being for the most part ashore.
This, however, was hardly fortunate for the owner,
as Nils Petter's shore-going disbursements were by
no means inconsiderable, including, as they did, little
occasional extras, such as £2, 10s. for a plate-glass
window in the bar of the "Duck and Acid-drop,"
through which aforesaid window Nils had propelled
a young gentleman whom he accused of throwing
orange-peel.</p>

<p>At last the <i>Eva Maria</i> was clear of Dundee, and
after Nils Petter had provisioned her according to his
lights&mdash;which ranged from fresh meat to ginger-beer
and double stout&mdash;there remained of the freight money
just on £7. This he considered was not worth sending
home, and invested it therefore in a cask of good
Scotch whisky, thinking to gladden his brother therewith
on his return.</p>

<p>Nils Petter and the <i>Eva Maria</i> then proceeded
without further adventure on their homeward way,
arriving in the best of trim eight days after.</p>

<p>The first thing to do was to go up to the owners
and report. Nils Petter was already in the boat, with
the whisky, and Ola Simonsen at the oars.</p>

<p>"What the devil am I to say about the money?"
muttered Nils Petter to himself, as he sat in the stern.
For the first time since the voyage began he felt
troubled and out of spirits.</p>

<p>"Fair good voyage it's been, Captain," said Ola,
resting on his oars.</p>

<p>"Ay, fair good voyage is all very well, but the
money, Ola, what about that?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_246" id="Page_246" title="[Pg 246]"></a>
Ola lifted his cap and scratched his head. "Why,
you haven't left it behind, then, Captain, or what?"</p>

<p>"Why, it's like this, Ola; there's expenses, you
know, on a voyage&mdash;oh, but it's no good trying that
on; he knows all about it himself. H'm ... I wish
to goodness I could think of something."</p>

<p>Nils Petter frowned, and looked across at the cask
of whisky. Ola, noticing the direction of his glance,
observed consolingly that it ought to be a welcome
present. "Ay, if that was all," said Nils Petter,
"but the beggar's a teetotaller."</p>

<p>They landed at the quay. Nils Petter and Ola got
the cask ashore, and rolled it together over to Bernt
Jorgensen's house. The owner was out in the garden,
eating cherries with the parson, who had come to call.</p>

<p>At sight of the latter, Nils Petter gave Ola a nudge,
and ordered him to take the cask round the back way,
while he himself walked solemnly up to his brother
and saluted.</p>

<p>"You've made a quick voyage," said Bernt Jorgensen,
his voice trembling a little. "I'd been expecting
to hear from you by letter before now, though." And
he looked up sternly.</p>

<p>"Yes&mdash;yes, I suppose ... you're thinking of the
freight," said Nils Petter, inwardly deciding that it
might be just as well to get it over at once, especially
now the parson was here.</p>

<p>"It was always my way to send home the freight
money as soon as I'd drawn it," said Bernt Jorgensen
quietly.</p>

<p>"Expenses come terribly heavy in Dundee just
now," said Nils Petter. "And&mdash;and&mdash;well, it's hard
to make ends meet anyhow these times."</p>

<p>Here an unexpected reinforcement came to his aid.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_247" id="Page_247" title="[Pg 247]"></a>
The parson nodded, and observed that he heard the
same thing on all sides; hard times for shipping trade
just now. The parson, indeed, never heard anything
else, as his parishioners invariably told him the same
story, as a sort of delicate excuse for the smallness of
their contribution.</p>

<p>When the brothers were alone, Nils Petter had to
come out with the truth, that all he had to show for
the trip was one cask of whisky. "That I brought
home, meaning all for the best, Bernt, and thinking
£7 wasn't worth sending."</p>

<p>Bernt, however, was of a different opinion, and
delivered a lengthy reprimand, ending up with the
words, "The <i>Eva Maria's</i> never made a voyage like
that before. Ah, Nils Petter, I'm afraid you're the
prodigal son."</p>

<p>Nils Petter bowed his head humbly, but reflected
inwardly that if all the prodigal sons had been as
comfortably off on their travels as he had on that
voyage, they wouldn't have been so badly off after all.</p>

<p>As for the cask of whisky, Nils Petter was ordered
to drive in with it to Drammen and sell it there, which
he did, after first privately drawing off six bottles and
supplying the deficiency with water.</p>

<p>If Bernt Jorgensen had had his doubts the first time
Nils Petter went on board the <i>Eva Maria</i> as skipper,
his misgivings now were naturally increased a thousand-fold.
Nils Petter, however, promised faithfully to
reform, and send home a thumping remittance, if only
he might be allowed to make one more voyage. And
in the end, Bernt, with brotherly affection, let him
have his way.</p>

<p>This time the charter was for Niewendiep, or
"Nyndyp," as it was generally called, which port<a class="pagenum" name="Page_248" id="Page_248" title="[Pg 248]"></a>
Bernt knew inside and out, as he said, so that Nils
Petter could not palm off any fairy-tales about it.</p>

<p>The voyage was as quick as the preceding one, and,
less than four weeks from sailing, Nils Petter appeared
once more rowing in to the quay. This time, however,
he brought with him, not a cask of whisky, but "something
altogether different"&mdash;in honour of which the
<i>Eva Maria</i> was decked out with all the bunting on
board.</p>

<p>Bernt Jorgensen had come down himself to the
waterside on seeing the vessel so beflagged, as it had
not been since the day of his own wedding, thirty
years before. He stood shading his eyes with one
hand, as he watched Nils Petter in the boat coming
in. "What on earth was that he had got in the
stern? Something all tied about with fluttering red
ribbons."</p>

<p>"Hey, brother!" hailed Nils Petter joyfully, standing
up in the boat. "Here's a remittance, if you
like!" And he pointed to a buxom young woman
who sat nodding and smiling at his side. Without
undue ceremony he hoisted the lady by one arm up
on to the quay, and the pair stood facing Bernt, who
stared speechlessly from one to the other.</p>

<p>"Here's your brother-in-law, my dear," said Nils
Petter in a dialect presumably meant for Dutch,
nudging the fair one with his knee in a part where
Hollanders are generally supposed to be well upholstered.
The impetus sent her flying into the arms
of Bernt, who extricated himself humidly.</p>

<p>"Her name's Jantjedina van Groot, my good and
faithful wife," Nils Petter explained. Bernt Jorgensen,
who had not yet recovered from his astonishment,
only grunted again and again: "H'm&mdash;h'm&mdash;&mdash;" and<a class="pagenum" name="Page_249" id="Page_249" title="[Pg 249]"></a>
made haste towards home, followed by Nils Petter
and his bride.</p>

<p>This time nothing was said about the freight money,
which was just as well for all concerned, seeing it had
all been spent in the purchase of various household
goods and extra provisions with which to celebrate
the occasion. Nils Petter's new relations in Holland,
too, had had to be treated in hospitable fashion&mdash;which
was just as well for them, since he never called
there again!</p>

<p>Bernt Jorgensen decided that it would be more
economical to pension off Nils Petter, and get a
skipper of the old school to take over the <i>Eva Maria</i>;
after which there was rarely any trouble about the
freight money.</p>

<p>"Ah, but expenses now aren't what they were in
my time," Nils Petter would say.</p>

<p>Which, in one sense, was perfectly true.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_250" id="Page_250" title="[Pg 250]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII<br />
THE <i>HENRIK IBSEN</i></h2>


<p>"Well, and what are you doing with that brat
of yours, <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>," asked Hansen
the shipbroker, one day, meeting Soren
Braaten in the street. "Got any freight yet?"</p>

<p>"No, worse luck. These wretched steamers take
all there is. I can't see what's the good of steam anyway<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span>
We got along all right without it before, but
it's all different now. Doesn't give a poor man time
to breathe."</p>

<p>"Yes, the old windjammers are rather out of it
now," Hansen agreed.</p>

<p>"Going to rack and ruin, as far as I can see. And
what's the sense of all this hurry and skurry, when
all's said and done. It's against nature, that's what
I say. When I think how we used to get along in the
old days. Why, I never heard but that the merchants
over in England and Holland were pleased enough
with the cargoes when they got there, whether we'd
been a fortnight or a month on the way, and we made
a decent living out of it and so did they. But now?
As soon as a steamer comes along, it's all fuss
and excitement and bother and complaint all
round."</p>

<p>"You ought to see and get hold of a steamboat<a class="pagenum" name="Page_251" id="Page_251" title="[Pg 251]"></a>
yourself, Soren; we mustn't be behindhand with everything,
you know. Why, up in Drammen now, they've
seven or eight of them already."</p>

<p>"Thank you for nothing. Let them buy steamers
that cares to; it won't be Soren Braaten, though."</p>

<p>And Soren walked homeward, inwardly anathematising
the inventor of steam, who might have found a
better use for his time than causing all that trouble
to his fellow-men.</p>

<p>Cilia was in the kitchen when he came in; the
first thing she asked was whether he had got a charter
for <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>.</p>

<p>The vessel had been lying in Christiania now for
nearly a month; such a thing had never happened
before.</p>

<p>Remittances? Alas, these had so dwindled of late
as to be almost microscopic. Things were looking
gloomy all round.</p>

<p>Cilia sat by the fire looking thoughtfully into the
blaze. She dropped her knitting, and stuck the odd
needle into her hair, that was fastened in a coil at the
back of her head. The wool rolled to the floor, but
when Soren stooped to pick it up, she ordered him
sharply to leave it alone. There was something in
her voice that startled Soren. Ever since the battle
royal of a few years back, she had been quiet and
sensible, and things had gone on between them as
smoothly as could be wished.</p>

<p>Suddenly she rose to her feet, and stood with one
hand on her hip, the other holding the bench.</p>

<p>"Soren, it's no good; we can't go on like this any
longer."</p>

<p>Soren gave a start; he could feel there was thunder
in the air.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_252" id="Page_252" title="[Pg 252]"></a>
"We'll have to buy a steamer. Sailing-ships are
out of date."</p>

<p>"What's that you say, mother? We two old
folks to go fussing about with steam? Nay, I'd
rather stick to the old planks till they rot!"</p>

<p>But Cilia went on firmly, altogether unmoved.
"We've a decent bit of money in the bank, and shares
in other things besides, but the interest's not what it
might be, and I don't see the sense of letting other
people take all the profits that's to be made out of
shipping, while we that's nearest at hand are left
behind."</p>

<p>"I don't suppose they're overdone with profits,
these here steamboats, when it comes to the point,"
grumbled Soren. And no more was said about the
matter for that day.</p>

<p>But Cilia pondered and speculated still; she read
the shipping papers and the shipbrokers' circulars
as earnestly as she studied lesson and collect on
Sundays.</p>

<p>She found a valuable ally, too, in her son-in-law,
Skipper Abrahamsen, who was tired of the "old
hulk," as he called <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>, and longed to be
captain of a steamer himself. Fortunately, Soren
never heard a word of this, or it would have been
ill both for Cilia and Abrahamsen, for he could not
bear to hear a word in dispraise of his beloved ship.</p>

<p>Malvina, of course, sided with her husband and her
mother, and their united efforts were daily brought to
bear upon Soren, till at last he grew so tired of hearing
about "that steamboat of ours," that he fled out
of the house, and went round to call on Warden Prois
whenever the talk turned that way.</p>

<p>There was a little attic in the Braaten's house<a class="pagenum" name="Page_253" id="Page_253" title="[Pg 253]"></a>
that had never been used for anything but a box-room;
this was now cleared in secret by Cilia and
Malvina, and then the three conspirators held meetings
and discussions. Abrahamsen and Cilia had quietly
made inquiries of various shipbuilding concerns, and
received a mass of estimates and plans.</p>

<p>Cilia studied the question of engines till her brain
was going twelve knots easy. Compound and triple
expansion, boiler plate, and cylinder stroke&mdash;her mind
was busy with every detail; for Cilia was not one to
do things by halves when once she started.</p>

<p>Abrahamsen was examined and cross-examined till
the sweat poured off him; he, of course, had to appear
more or less familiar with all these things, since he
aspired to command a steamer.</p>

<p>Malvina sat silent, looking on with wide eyes and
taking it all in; she was looking forward to a free
passage on a real steamboat for herself.</p>

<p>Soren wondered a little what they could be up to
in the attic, but, being comfortable enough below with
a glass of grog and the <i>Shipping Gazette</i>, he let them
stay there as long as they pleased. One evening,
however, it struck him they were at it a good long
time; it was past eleven, and no sign of their coming
down yet. Accordingly, he stole up quietly in his
stocking feet, and looked through the keyhole. What
he saw did not improve his temper. On a table in
the middle of the room was the smartest little steamer
one could imagine. Red bottom, sides black above,
with a gold streak, the rudder and two masts sloping
a little aft, flag at fore and maintop&mdash;a sight to see.
Cilia, Malvina and Abrahamsen stood round examining
the model with glee.</p>

<p>Soren was about to retire, but stumbled over an old<a class="pagenum" name="Page_254" id="Page_254" title="[Pg 254]"></a>
trunk left outside, and fell head over heels into the
room among the others. There was an awkward
pause, until Cilia broke the silence by asking Soren:
"What do you think of that&mdash;isn't she a beauty?"
pointing to the model as she spoke.</p>

<p>"Why, yes, she's a handsome boat enough," said
Soren, rubbing his shins.</p>

<p>"Oh, father, we <em>must</em> have a steamer of our own,"
said Malvina, coming up and clinging to his shoulder.</p>

<p>"Why, child, what are you doing here? I thought
you'd have had enough to do at home with the boy,"
he said softly.</p>

<p>"It's the steamer we wanted to see. Mother thinks
we could manage all right with compound, but
Abrahamsen says it'll have to be triplets."</p>

<p>"Triplets, forbid!" muttered Abrahamsen.</p>

<p>"Have it whatever way you please, for all I care,"
said Soren. And he stumped off downstairs.</p>

<p>But the pressure from all sides was too much.
Soren had to give way at last, and sign a formal document
inviting subscriptions for shares in "a modern,
up-to-date steamship."</p>

<p>S. Braaten having entered his name for fifty shares
at £50, it was hoped that the remainder would
be subscribed by tradesfolk in the town. Cilia had
laid stress on the importance of appealing to local
patriotism, and the circular accordingly pointed out
that "in neighbouring towns it has already been
wisely recognised that the shipping of the future will
be steam, and that the day of the sailing vessel is past;
our town alone, though it has always occupied a leading
position in the shipping world, is sadly behindhand in
this respect, counting as <a class="corr" name="TC_8" id="TC_8" title="get">yet</a> not a single steamer. It
is in order to meet this long-felt want"&mdash;etc.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_255" id="Page_255" title="[Pg 255]"></a>
The appeal to the citizens of Strandvik was not in
vain. A few days later the necessary share capital
was subscribed.</p>

<p>Soren Braaten, however, was ill at ease; it had gone
against the grain to sign a document declaring that
the day of the sailing vessel was past, and he would
have liked to add an explanatory note to the effect
that he had signed under protest. There was no help
for it, however; for peace and quietness' sake he had
to give way.</p>

<p>At the preliminary general meeting, Soren was
elected Managing Director of the Company, despite his
most energetic protests.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>It was a fine sunny day when the <i>Henrik Ibsen</i> was
due to appear. The name had been chosen at the
suggestion of Lawyer Nickelsen, who explained it as
fitting for a trading vessel, from the fact that the
poet in question was expert at moving in dark waters
and foggy regions, and made a very good living out
of it; he hoped that the steamer would do likewise.</p>

<p>Flags were in evidence all over the town, and the
quay was crowded. Never had there been such excitement
in Strandvik since the day of the Royal
visit.</p>

<p>Almost every other man was a shareholder; even
Klementsen the parish clerk and Pedersen the
schoolmaster had, despite their widely differing
political views, gone halves together in a share.</p>

<p>"From what I see in the papers about oil freights
from New York and corn freights from the Black Sea,
the vessel ought to pay at least twenty per cent," said
Pedersen, with an air of superior wisdom. And he
brought out a big sheet of paper covered with calculations<a class="pagenum" name="Page_256" id="Page_256" title="[Pg 256]"></a>
in English pounds, shillings and pence, which
had taken him all the afternoon to work out.</p>

<p>Klementsen had to put on his spectacles and study
the figures earnestly; which done, the two newly
pledged shipowners solemnly declared "it looks like
very good business."</p>

<p>Nachmann was also a shareholder, but had only
taken up his holding on condition that he should be
purveyor of wines to the ship, "a smart, round vessel
like that must get things from a decent firm." He
had been busy to-day with a whole cart-load of various
wines for the dinner, which the shareholders were to
have on board during the trial trip.</p>

<p>Away in the harbour lay the <i>Apollo</i>, <i>Eva Maria</i>,
and <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>; they had had no charters this
year. The old craft looked heavy and stout as they
lay in the sweltering sun, with pitch oozing from their
seams like black tears. It almost looked as if they
were weeping at having to lie idle, instead of ploughing
through the good salt waters off Lindemor or the
Dogger.</p>

<p>Soren Braaten, rowing out over the fjord to meet
the steamer, passed close by his old ship <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>.
He cast a loving glance at the dear old piece of timber,
and wished he had accepted any freight, however
poor, so he had kept out of all this new-fangled
business with engine-power and steam. He felt like
a traitor to his class, and to all the old things he loved.</p>

<p>He passed the <i>Eva Maria</i>, and there was Bernt
Jorgensen standing aft. Bernt had declined to take
up shares in the steamer; on the contrary, he had
argued earnestly against the project, declaring that
Strandvik owed too much to the old sailing ships not
to hold by them to the last.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_257" id="Page_257" title="[Pg 257]"></a>
"Aren't you coming on board the steamer?" cried
Soren as he came within hail.</p>

<p>"No, thankye, I've no mind for it. I'm better
where I am," answered Bernt, and, crossing over, sat
down on the half-deck.</p>

<p>He hoisted his flag with the rest, though he felt
little inclined to; but it would look strange if the
<i>Eva Maria</i> were the only one to refrain. But the
bunting was only half-way up when the halliards
broke, and the flag remained at half-mast.</p>

<p>Bernt felt it was something of an ill-omen. He went
into his cabin, but through the porthole he could see
the <i>Henrik Ibsen</i> come gliding into the harbour amid
general salutation.</p>

<p>The steamer was bright with brass work and new
paint; the great gilt letters of her name at the stern
shone over the water. On the bridge stood Skipper
Abrahamsen, with three gold bands on his cap, and
all the crew were in uniform&mdash;blue jerseys, with the
name worked in red.</p>

<p>Bernt Jorgensen looked round his own cabin; the
worn, yellow-painted walls, the square of ragged
canvas that did duty as a tablecloth, the sofa with its
old cracked covering of American cloth&mdash;it was all
poor enough, but would he change with the dandified
newcomer over yonder?</p>

<p>He struck his fist on the table. "Let's see if he's
as smart at earning money as you've been, <i>Eva Maria</i>.
It'll take him all his time, I fancy."</p>

<p>The cheering sounded across the water, as he sat
bowed over the table with his head in his arms, thinking
of old times, from the day he first went to sea
with Uncle Gjermundsen, on board the <i>Stjerna</i>. Three
shirts, a pair of canvas breeches, a straw-stuffed mattress<a class="pagenum" name="Page_258" id="Page_258" title="[Pg 258]"></a>
and a rug were all his kit. But what a clipper she was
in those days, with her twelve knots close hauled. And
Uncle Gjermundsen was the man to get the best out
of her too. No gold-braided cap for him, and not
much of a man to look at, little, dry and crooked-backed
as he was; but when he went overboard with a line
that black November night to save the crew of an
English brig on the reef and sinking, there was many
an upstanding man might have been proud to know
him. But he and his ship were gone now, and both
the same way. He stood by his ship too long, last
man on his own deck he would be, and so the rest were
saved and he went down. But it was all in the papers
about it, the speech that was made in his honour at
the Seamen's Union, and the verse:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"He stood alone on the sinking wreck,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">A sailor fearless and bold,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For he knew that the last to leave the deck,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">Comes first when all is told."<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>And what lads they were on board the <i>Stjerna</i>, tarry
and weather-stained, but the harder it blew the smarter
they went about it. There was Nils Sturika, that
Christmas Eve off Jomfruland, when the pilot was to
come aboard. The whole ship was like a lump of ice,
and the fore-rigging ready to go by the board, with
the lee shrouds and backstays torn away. They had
to make the signal, but the foretop halliards were
gone. And then it was Nils Sturika went up the topgallant
shrouds by his hands, with the flag in his teeth,
and lashed it fast to the pole.</p>

<p>But they got the pilot, and made in to Risorbank
just in time.</p>

<p>Nobody shouted hurrah for Nils, and a stiff nip of<a class="pagenum" name="Page_259" id="Page_259" title="[Pg 259]"></a>
grog was what he got when he came down; instead of
a medal with ribbon and all that he'd maybe get
nowadays.</p>

<p>Bernt Jorgensen was roused from his meditation
by the sound of the salute on board the <i>Henrik Ibsen</i>.
He rose and went up on deck to see what was going
on. The shareholders, with wives and children,
nephews and nieces and relatives generally, were
making a tour of the vessel.</p>

<p>Cilia was down in the saloon, seated in state on a red
plush sofa. She did not feel altogether comfortable,
to tell the truth, having acquired a horror of showy
furniture since her own escapade in that direction.
But she was proud to feel that "we" had achieved
the distinction of giving Strandvik its first steamer.</p>

<p>The trial trip was to take place while dinner was
being served in the saloon.</p>

<p>The <i>Henrik Ibsen</i> steamed along the fjord, beflagged
from deck to top, and greeted with cheers from all
along the waterside; not a citizen of Strandvik but
felt a thrill of pride in his citizenship that day.</p>

<p>The dinner was a most festive affair. The conversation
ran gaily on the topic of freights and steamship
traffic. Old Klementsen already saw in his mind's
eye a whole fleet of Strandvik steamers putting out
to sea with flags flying, and coming home laden deep
with gold to the beloved little town.</p>

<p>Justice Heidt, guest of honour in his capacity as
principal representative of local authority, made a
speech, in which he referred to "Strandvik's first steamship,
a tangible witness to the high degree of initiative
among our business men. The vessel has been named
after a great poet, and it is our hope that it will, like
its famous namesake, add to our country's credit and<a class="pagenum" name="Page_260" id="Page_260" title="[Pg 260]"></a>
renown in distant lands. Good luck and prosperity
to the <i>Henrik Ibsen</i>." The toast was received with
hearty cheers from all.</p>

<p>Someone proposed the health of Soren Braaten, as
leader in the enterprise, and Cilia's too, as the guiding
spirit of the undertaking; then the captain's health
was drunk, and many more.</p>

<p>All were excited to a high pitch of enthusiasm.
Old Klementsen, delighted to feel himself a shipowner,
sat in a corner with a magnum of champagne before
him, delivered an oration on the subject of time-charter
on the China coast; he had read an article
on the subject in a paper, and was greatly impressed
by the same.</p>

<p>"Beautifully steady, isn't she?" said Cilia to her
husband. Hardly had she spoken, however, when, "Brrr&mdash;drrrrum&mdash;drrrum&mdash;drrrum"&mdash;the
passengers were
thrown headlong in all directions, and Cilia herself was
flung into the arms of Justice Heidt, the two striking
their heads together with a force that made both dizzy
for the moment.</p>

<p>Bottles, glasses and plates were scattered about,
adding to the general confusion.</p>

<p>So violent was the shock that many thought the
boiler had burst, and something approaching panic
prevailed.</p>

<p>Schoolmaster Pedersen was screaming like a maniac.
In his anxiety to see what was happening, he had thrust
his head through one of the portholes, and could not
get it back despite his utmost efforts. Everyone else
was too much occupied to help him, and there he stood,
unable to move.</p>

<p>The rest of the party hurried up on deck, all save
Klementsen, who, having emptied his magnum, felt<a class="pagenum" name="Page_261" id="Page_261" title="[Pg 261]"></a>
himself unable to get up the companion, and wisely
refrained from making the attempt.</p>

<p>The <i>Henrik Ibsen</i> had struck on a sunken reef. The
excitement of the occasion, together with the generous
good cheer, had had their effect on the crew, who had
not paid much heed to their course, with the result
that the vessel had taken her own, until brought up
all standing by the unexpected obstacle.</p>

<p>The bow had run right on the shelf of rock, and
things looked distinctly unpleasant, until Soren Braaten
explained that "unfortunately" there was shallow
water on all sides, when the company began to feel
somewhat easier in their minds.</p>

<p>Cilia's head was treated with vinegar bandages,
and Justice Heidt's nose bound up as if in sympathy
with the damage inside. But the festive spirit among
the shareholders generally was at a low ebb, and anyone
taking advantage of the moment might have
bought shares then at well below par.</p>

<p>Aha, there is a tug already, the <i lang="no">Storegut</i>; things
looked brighter in a moment, perhaps they might
get off at once. But then came the question, had she
sprung a leak? No; sound as a bell. A proper sort
of steamer this.</p>

<p>A hawser was passed from the tug, then full speed
astern&mdash;Hurrah&mdash;she's moving! The Henrik Ibsen
drew slowly off the reef and was soon clear once more.
The passengers brightened up, and soon the steamer
was on her way back to Strandvik, the tug standing
by in case of need.</p>

<p>Nachmann's supply of champagne was inexhaustible,
and Thor Smith got on his feet with another
speech for "the splendid vessel which has stood the
test so manfully to-day. The <i>Henrik Ibsen</i> was not<a class="pagenum" name="Page_262" id="Page_262" title="[Pg 262]"></a>
built for picnic voyages over sunny seas; no, she had
shown what she could do and borne it magnificently."
Cheers for the <i>Henrik Ibsen</i> and general acclamation.</p>

<p>Then the whole company joined in the song:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="iminus">"And what though I ran my ship aground,<br /></span>
<span class="i1">It was grand to sail the seas!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>At last the <i>Henrik Ibsen</i> set out on a real voyage in
earnest, and Soren Braaten was glad enough; he felt
in need of rest after all he had been through.</p>

<p>He told Cilia, indeed, that he would rather go sailing
in the Arctic than have it all to do over again. No,
this steamship business was a trial.</p>

<p>Hardly had Soren settled down to his well-earned
rest, when, only four days after the vessel had sailed,
came a telegram from Hull announcing her arrival
and awaiting orders. That meant wiring off at once
to the brokers in Drammen and Christiania asking
for freights. The telegraph, indeed, was kept so
busy, that old Anders the messenger declared the
wretched steamboat gave more work than anyone
had a right to expect. Now and again, at weddings
and suchlike, it was only natural to have a few extra
telegrams going and coming; but, then, he would
take them round in bundles at a time, and be handsomely
treated into the bargain. Whereas this&mdash;why,
he'd hardly as much as got back from delivering
one wire to Soren Braaten, when a new one came in,
and off he'd have to go again. And a man couldn't
even stroll round with them at his ordinary pace; it
was always "urgent" or "express," or something
of the sort, that sent him hurrying off as if the wind
were at his heels.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_263" id="Page_263" title="[Pg 263]"></a>
And as for being handsomely treated! It was a
thankless task if ever there was one. When Anders
appeared with his seventh wire in one day, Soren almost
flew at him. "What, you there again with more of
those infernal telegram things!"</p>

<p>Soren Braaten had had more telegrams the last fortnight
than in all his life before; and, worst of all, they
were so briefly worded, it took him all his time to
make out the sense. If things went on at this rate
he would very soon be wanting another cure at Sandefjord,
and this time in earnest.</p>

<p>There was never any rest, this steamer of his flew
about at such a rate; just when you thought she was
in England she'd be somewhere down the Mediterranean
or the Black Sea. Soren said as much to his
old friend Skipper Sorensen, who answered: "Better
be careful, lad, or she'll run so fast one day she'll run
away with all your money." And Soren was anxious
about that very thing, for the remittance seemed to
him rather small in comparison with the length of
voyage involved.</p>

<p>Soren found himself at last hopelessly at sea both as
to charters and accounts, and confided to Cilia one
day that he was going to throw up the whole thing;
as far as he was concerned, "the wretched boat can
manage itself."</p>

<p>Cilia thought over the matter seriously. Her first
idea was to take over the chartering herself, but when
Soren began talking about freight from Wolgast to
Salonica, and Rouen to Montechristi, her geography
failed her.</p>

<p>Fixing the old <i>Apollo</i> or <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i> for voyages
in the Baltic or the North Sea was easy enough.
Cilia knew the name of every port from Pitea to<a class="pagenum" name="Page_264" id="Page_264" title="[Pg 264]"></a>
Vlaardingen, from London to Kirkwall, but outside
the English Channel she was lost.</p>

<p>The end of it was that Soren went in to Christiania and
got a broker he knew there to take over the business,
and glad he was to get rid of it. The week after, he
went on board <i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>, rigged her up, and sailed
with a cargo of planks to Amsterdam. Even though
he made little out of it beyond his keep, it was nicer
than sitting at home in a state of eternal worry about
the steamer.</p>

<p>"It pays better than the savings bank, anyway,"
said Cilia, when he grumbled.</p>

<p>"Maybe; but it's a wearisome business all the
same, this steam chartering. And we've other things
to think about but what pays best."</p>

<p>And off he went on board his own old-fashioned
<i lang="no">Birkebeineren</i>.<span class="corr" title='removed: "'></span></p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_265" id="Page_265" title="[Pg 265]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX<br />
NILS PETTER'S LEGACY</h2>


<p>The news ran like wildfire through the town:
Nils Petter Jorgensen had been left a million
gylden by his wife's uncle in Holland. It
was true as could be; Justice Heidt had had a letter
from the Queen to say so.</p>

<p>"Jantje!" roared Nils Petter out into the wash-house,
where his wife stood in a cloud of steam and
soapsuds.</p>

<p>"What is it, husband?" Jantje appeared in the
doorway, little, stout and smiling, with her sleeves
rolled up and the perspiration thick on her forehead.</p>

<p>"Come into the parlour a minute."</p>

<p>"Oh, I haven't time now, husband. There's the
washing to be done."</p>

<p>"Oh, bother the washing! We've done with all
that now," said Nils Petter loftily. And, thrusting his
thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, he strode
stiffly in, followed by Jantje.</p>

<p>"Jantje, sit down on the sofa. Ahem ... er ...
an event has occurred ..."</p>

<p>"Have they made you captain, husband; you
have got a ship? We can go to Holland together, is
it not?" Jantje clapped her hands together, and
looked at him expectantly. Poor Jantje had never
seen her native land since the day she sailed away on<a class="pagenum" name="Page_266" id="Page_266" title="[Pg 266]"></a>
board the <i>Eva Maria</i>, and still felt strange in Norway,
speaking the language with difficulty as she did.</p>

<p>"We're rich, Jantje; we're millionaires, that's what
it is."</p>

<p>Jantje turned serious at once; her first thought was
that Nils Petter must have taken a drop too much&mdash;a
thing that rarely happened now since he had been
married.</p>

<p>"Don't you think you'd better lie down a little,
husband?" she said quietly, pointing to the bedroom.</p>

<p>"Oho, you think I've been drinking? Well, here's
the letter from the Justice; you can see for yourself."</p>

<p>Jantje took the letter and studied it intently, but
could not make out a word of what it said.</p>

<p>"Your Uncle Peter van Groot died in Java last
year, and left millions of gylden, and no children&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Praise the Lord!" exclaimed Jantje.</p>

<p>"And all those millions are ours now, seeing we're
the nearest heirs since your mother and father died."</p>

<p>"Poor Uncle Pit&mdash;kind old Uncle Pit," sighed Jantje,
wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then,
rising to her feet, she went on: "If that's all, husband,
then I'll go and finish the washing."</p>

<p>"Washing, now? No, you don't, Jantje. Off
with you at once and put on the finest you've got:
your green dress and the coral brooch."</p>

<p>"But the things will be spoiled in the water,
husband."</p>

<p>"Never mind; let them. Hurry up and get dressed
now."</p>

<p>Jantje went off to dress, but not before she had slipped
out into the wash-house, wrung out the wet things and
hung them up to dry.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_267" id="Page_267" title="[Pg 267]"></a>
Nils Petter put on his best blue suit, a starched
shirt with collar and cuffs, a black tie and stiff
hat.</p>

<p>Then Jantje appeared, wearing her green dress, her
face all flushed and aglow with hurrying.</p>

<p>The pair sat for a moment looking at one another.</p>

<p>"Jantje!"</p>

<p>"Yes, husband?"</p>

<p>"What shall we do with it all?"</p>

<p>Such a question from Nils Petter was too much for
Jantje all at once. She looked helplessly round the
room as if seeking for somewhere to put it.</p>

<p>"It's a question what to do with any amount of
capital these days. Shipowning's a risky business...."
Nils Petter paced up and down thoughtfully.</p>

<p>Then Jantje had an inspiration. "Husband, there's
the big clothes-chest, room for lots of money in that."
And she hurried out into the passage and began dragging
out the chest.</p>

<p>"No, no, Jantje; leave it alone. The money'll
have to be put in the bank, of course. We can't keep
it in the house."</p>

<p>There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" It
was Watchmaker Rordam. "Congratulations, my
boy. Grand piece of luck, what? Must be strange-like,
to get all that heap of money at once."</p>

<p>"Well, ye-es," said Nils Petter; "it's a trouble to
know what to do with one's capital, though; these
savings banks pay such a miserable rate of interest."
Jantje looked at him in surprise. Why, only a fortnight
ago, when he had had to renew a bill at the bank,
he had declared loudly against the "pack of Jews"
for charging too high a rate.</p>

<p>"You won't forget your old friends, Nils Petter, I<a class="pagenum" name="Page_268" id="Page_268" title="[Pg 268]"></a>
hope, now that you've come into a fortune," said
Rordam.</p>

<p>"Trust me for that, lad," said Nils Petter. "I
haven't forgotten how you helped me out when I was
near being sold up; I owe you something for that.
Being thankless towards friends that lent a hand when
times were hard is a bad mark in the register and the
sign of an unseaworthy character, and it shan't be
said of Nils Petter Jorgensen." And he gripped
Rordam's hand emphatically.</p>

<p>"Well, now, what do you say to a drink?"</p>

<p>"Not for me, thanks," answered Rordam. "I've&mdash;I've
given it up," he added, not without some reluctance.</p>

<p>"Don't mind if I have one?"</p>

<p>"No, indeed."</p>

<p>"Jantje, give me a drop of Hollands. It's a plaguy
business thinking out how to invest big sums of money."</p>

<p>Rordam had never had any experience of that sort
of business, but thought he would not mind a little
trouble, given the occasion.</p>

<p>Nils Petter drank off his glass. Rordam stuck to
his refusal bravely, which so won Nils Petter's admiration
that he bought of the watchmaker a splendid
clock, costing five pounds, an elegant piece of work
with a marble face and gilt lions above. Furthermore,
on leaving, Rordam was given a piece of paper with
the following words:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="b0">"Mr. Watchmaker Rordam to receive £50&mdash;fifty
pounds&mdash;when I get the legacy.</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">N. P. Jorgensen.</span>"</p>
</div>

<p>This last was a gratuity, which Nils Petter felt he
ought to give for old friendship's sake.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_269" id="Page_269" title="[Pg 269]"></a>
Rordam was delighted; at last he would be able
to pay off the many little odd debts that had been
worrying him for years past.</p>

<p>Hardly had Rordam gone when Schoolmaster
Pedersen came in, bringing a large oleander as a present
for Jantje.</p>

<p>Nils Petter and the schoolmaster had never been
very friendly, holding different political opinions;
Nils Petter especially waxed furious whenever he saw
Pedersen's anti-Swedish flag hoisted in the garden.
A couple of years ago he had gone in and cut it down,
but the matter was, fortunately, smoothed over,
Pedersen being an easy-going man, while his wife and
Jantje were very good friends.</p>

<p>"I just looked in, my dear Jorgensen, to see if you'd
any use for a secretary. A man in your position, of
course, will have any amount of writing and bookkeeping
work, and you know I'd be glad to make a
little extra myself."</p>

<p>Nils Petter was not much of a scholar. The few
occasions when he had to use a pen caused him no
little difficulty; his big, unaccustomed fingers gripped
the pen-holder as if it were a crowbar.</p>

<p>"Why, I dare say I might.... And what would
you want a year for that?"</p>

<p>"I'd leave that to you."</p>

<p>"Would £200 be enough?"</p>

<p>Pedersen jumped up in delight and almost embraced
Nils Petter. "It's too much, Jorgensen, really."</p>

<p>"It won't be too much; there'll be a deal of work
to do. But I forgot, one thing you'll have to do: get
rid of that beastly flag of yours."</p>

<p>Pedersen turned serious. "The Norwegian flag is
our national emblem, and that alone. As a true<a class="pagenum" name="Page_270" id="Page_270" title="[Pg 270]"></a>
patriot, I must stand by my convictions. Norway...."</p>

<p>Nils Petter broke in angrily. "Norway, Norway!
There's a sight too much of that if you ask me. I've
sailed with the good old Union flag round the Horn
and the Cape of Good Hope as well, and it's been
looked up to everywhere. You can take and sew in
the Swedish colours again, if you want the place&mdash;not
but what the old flag's handsome enough," he added
in a somewhat gentler tone.</p>

<p>Pedersen thought this rather hard; but £200 a
year was not to be sneezed at, and, after all, there
were limits to what could be reasonably demanded
of a patriot. He was accordingly appointed private
secretary, on condition that the Union colours be
included in his flag forthwith, and set off home rejoicing.
And feeling that he could now afford a little jollification,
he bought a joint of beef, a bottle of wine, and
a bag of oranges for the children.</p>

<p>Later in the day Bernt Jorgensen came round; he,
too, had heard of the wonderful legacy.</p>

<p>"You'll need to be careful now, with all that money,
Nils Petter; a fortune's not a thing to be frittered
away."</p>

<p>"Trust me for that, brother. And you shall have
a share of it too, for you've been a good sort. I will
say, though, a trifle on the saving side at times, but
never mind that now. Look here, Bernt, would you
care to sell the <i>Eva Maria</i>?"</p>

<p>Bernt Jorgensen was so astonished at this sudden
changing front that he hardly knew what to say.
Hitherto Nils Petter had always been deferential and
respectful towards him; now, however, he seemed to
be adopting an air of lordly condescension.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_271" id="Page_271" title="[Pg 271]"></a>
"Well, what do you say?"</p>

<p>"Sell you the <i>Eva Maria</i>! Well, it'd mean a lot of
money for you, Nils Petter."</p>

<p>"Oh, that's all right. I've got plenty."</p>

<p>Bernt Jorgensen would not decide all at once, but
wanted time to think it over.</p>

<p>During the next few days Nils Petter was inundated
with visitors, and Jantje was kept busy all the time
making fresh coffee in her best green dress, which
caused her not a little anxiety, lest it should be soiled.
Nils Petter told her not to worry; she would get a
new one. But it was not Jantje's way to be careless
with things.</p>

<p>Various speculators came offering properties for sale
in various parts of the country, producing such masses
of documents that Pedersen, as secretary, had his work
cut out to find room for them in the parlour.</p>

<p>By way of finding a ship for his friend Thoresen,
Trina's husband, Nils Petter had purchased the brig
<i>Cupid</i> from Governor Abrahamsen for £500, also the
Sorgenfri estate, situated a little way out of the town.
This latter property, with a fine two-storeyed house
looking out on the fjord, ran him into something like
£1200. In each case it was stipulated that "the
purchase money shall be paid in cash as soon as my
inheritance from Holland is made over."</p>

<p>N. P. Jorgensen and his secretary had both been
up to view the Sorgenfri estate, and were very pleased
with it on the whole. They agreed, however, that
some alterations would have to be made, such as laying
out a park, with fish-pond, and building a skittle-alley,
which last Nils Petter was especially keen on, having
been greatly devoted to that form of sport in his
youth.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_272" id="Page_272" title="[Pg 272]"></a>
Then came a number of letters addressed to "N. P.
Jorgensen, Esquire," during this time.</p>

<p>His old friend, Shipbroker Rothe of Arendal, was
forming a company to acquire a big steamer for the
China trade, which was to give at least 30 to 40 per
cent. He wanted only £3000 to complete, and invited
Nils Petter, for old acquaintance's sake, to take up
shares to that amount.</p>

<p>"Good fellow, is old Rothe," said Nils Petter to his
secretary. "I used to have a drink with him every
evening when I was up there with the old <i>Spesfides</i>
for repairs. We went in for our mates' certificate
together, too. Write and say I'll take shares for the
£3000; that'll put him right."</p>

<p>It was late in the evening most days before Nils
Petter and his secretary had got through the day's
correspondence, and Nils Petter, who was accustomed
to turn in about eight or nine o'clock, was so tired and
sleepy that he wanted to leave everything as it was;
but Pedersen was zealous in his work, and declared
it was the first essential of a business man to answer
letters promptly.</p>

<p>There was no help for it; Nils Petter was obliged
to sit up, wading through all sorts of documents,
company prospectuses, particulars of house property,
mines, steamships, etc. etc. Secretary Pedersen left
nothing unconsidered. Nils Petter all but fell asleep
in his chair. And when at last he got to bed he would
lie tossing and talking in his sleep, till Jantje had to
get up and put cold water bandages on his head.
Every morning he shuddered at the thought of that
day's burdens, especially when the postman came
tramping up with bundles of letters and circulars, one
bigger than another.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_273" id="Page_273" title="[Pg 273]"></a>
Jantje and Nils Petter sat drinking their coffee in
the kitchen, one each side of the table in front of the
hearth. This was the best time of the day, Nils Petter
thought; he could take it easy as in the old days, sitting
in his shirt sleeves, and caring nothing for letters and
investments.</p>

<p>Jantje, too, liked this way best; she was always
uncomfortable when she had to put on her green
dress.</p>

<p>The coffee-pot was puffing like a little steam-engine
on the hob, and Jantje was cutting the new bread into
good thick slices.</p>

<p>"Jantje!"</p>

<p>"Yes, husband; what is it?"</p>

<p>"Seems to me we were a good deal better off before
we got all this money."</p>

<p>"Ay, that's true, that's true."</p>

<p>"And I don't somehow feel like moving up to
Sorgenfri&mdash;it's nice and comfortable here."</p>

<p>"Oh, thank you, thank you, husband. I'm so glad.
I'd never feel happy away from here."</p>

<p>Nils Petter and Jantje had one great regret&mdash;they
had no children. They had often talked of adopting
one. The question cropped up again now. Jantje
had heard that Skipper Olsen's widow had just died,
leaving a four-year-old boy with no one to look after
him but the parish; they decided, therefore, to take
him and bring him up as their own. Jantje busied
herself making preparations, and Nils Petter, disregarding
Pedersen's insistence, flatly refused to be
bothered with letters just now; he too had things to
do about the house, getting ready for the boy.</p>

<p>The news soon spread that little Rasper Olsen was
to be adopted by Nils Petter. Had ever a poor<a class="pagenum" name="Page_274" id="Page_274" title="[Pg 274]"></a>
orphan such a stroke of luck! They called him the
millionaire boy.</p>

<p>When at last Jantje came in, leading the little
fellow by the hand, Nils Petter's delight knew no
bounds; he laughed and sang, and lifted the pretty,
chubby lad and held him out at arm's length.</p>

<p>The boy took to Jantje at once, and when he began
to call her "Mama," she wept with joy, and had to
run and find Nils Petter that he might hear it too.
He tried to get the child to call him "Papa," but
here he was disappointed; Rasper would not call
him anything but "Nils Petter," as he had heard
everybody else do.</p>

<p>The first night, one of the richest heirs in the country
slept in a washing-basket, to the great delight of Nils
Petter, who amused himself swinging basket and boy
together over his head till the child fell asleep.</p>

<p>Nils Petter was getting altogether unreasonable,
so at least his secretary thought. He declined altogether
to go to the office now, and went out
fishing in his boat instead. And Jantje put on her
old house frock again and stood over wash-tub just
as before.</p>

<p>"Extraordinary people," said Pedersen. "Really,
it's a pity to see all this money thrown away on folk
with no idea of how to use it."</p>

<p>And indeed Nils Petter and Jantje gradually were
fast slipping back to their old way of life. All Pedersen's
arguments and entreaties could not persuade
them to move out to Sorgenfri and take up a position
suited to their means. In vain the schoolmaster
urged "the duties involved by possession of worldly
wealth, responsibilities towards society in general,"
and so on; Nils Petter cared not a jot for anything<a class="pagenum" name="Page_275" id="Page_275" title="[Pg 275]"></a>
of the sort; he was going to live his own way, and the
rest could go hang.</p>

<p>One day Justice Heidt came round, and asked to
speak to Nils Petter privately.</p>

<p>"There we are again," grumbled Nils Petter;
"more about that wretched money, I'll be bound."</p>

<p>"I am sorry to say," began the Justice, "I have
bad news for you about this legacy business&mdash;very
bad news indeed."</p>

<p>"Well, I've had nothing but trouble about it from
the start," said Nils Petter, "so a little more won't
make much difference."</p>

<p>"The legacy in question proves to be considerably
less than was at first understood&mdash;in fact, I may say
the amount is altogether insignificant."</p>

<p>"Well, it'll be something anyway, I suppose?"
Nils Petter felt he ought to have a little at least for
all his trouble.</p>

<p>"I have a cheque here for 760 gylden, and that,
I am sorry to say, is all there is."</p>

<p>"Well, to tell the truth, Justice, I'm not sorry to
hear it. I've been that pestered and worried with
this legacy business, I'll be glad to see the last
of it."</p>

<p>Nils Petter went round to the bank and changed
his cheque; it came to 1140 crowns. Of this Pedersen
received 200 for his secretarial work, Rordam another
200, the remainder was put in the bank as a separate
account for little Rasper. Nils Petter and Jantje
were glad to be rid of Sorgenfri, the brig, and the
postman. The last named, it is true, still brought an
occasional letter for "N. P. Jorgensen, Esquire," but
Nils Petter never bothered to look at them.</p>

<p>And when Nils Petter set little Rasper on his<a class="pagenum" name="Page_276" id="Page_276" title="[Pg 276]"></a>
shoulders and asked: "Which would you rather
have, a million or a thrashing?" the boy invariably
answered, "Thrashing," at which Nils Petter would
laugh till it could be heard half-way down the
street.</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_277" id="Page_277" title="[Pg 277]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XX" id="XX"></a>XX<br />
THE ADMIRAL</h2>


<p>Some people seem to have the privilege of
being as rude and ill-mannered as they please.
They are generally to be found among those
whose superior share of this world's goods enables
them to lord it over the little circle in which they
move.</p>

<p>They may be compared to bumble-bees that rarely
sting, and only upon provocation. Ordinarily, they
are very harmless, and for my part I much prefer a
bumble-bee to the dainty and delicate mosquitoes
that look so innocent, as they smilingly perforate the
epidermis of a fellow-creature with a thousand little
stabs.</p>

<p>"The Admiral" was a big bumble-bee. As a
young officer in the navy he had been a reckless
blade, and, having gained the rank of lieutenant,
was obliged to leave the service for some piece of
insubordination. He then entered the navy of a
minor eastern power, where his dominant qualities of
impudence and unscrupulousness were appreciated to
such a degree that he rose to the rank of Admiral.
Hence the title. It was stated that he "flogged
niggers and shot down cannibals," without the
formality of trial by jury&mdash;or indeed any formality
at all.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_278" id="Page_278" title="[Pg 278]"></a>
Thanks to the Admiral's zeal, the two gunboats
which constituted the navy in question were kept in
excellent order, but as the four guns of the combined
fleet enabled him to command the capital, including
the government, he became a trifle over-bearing.</p>

<p>One day, when the King came on board to pay a
visit of inspection, with his two wives, the Admiral
declared that he would keep the younger lady for
himself, a wife being one of the items lacking in the
inventory on board. The King, as a good husband,
naturally declined to entertain the idea. Had it been
the elder of the two, the matter might perhaps have
been discussed, but as the Admiral stubbornly insisted
on taking the younger, the parties exchanged words,
and, ultimately, blows. This stage having been reached,
the Admiral took his sovereign by the scruff of the
neck, and his queen by the stern, and heaved the
pair of them overboard. Fortunately the gunboat
was not far off shore, and their majesties, who could
swim like fishes, made straight for land. But the waters
thereabouts are infested with sharks, and they were
forced to put on full speed to escape with their lives.</p>

<p>The Admiral and the younger consort stood on the
deck of the gunboat, watching the august swimmers
with interest through a glass.</p>

<p>The King, having scrambled ashore, stalked solemnly
up to his palm-shack palace, clenched his fist and shook
it violently at the Admiral, vociferating "schandalous."
This was a word he had learned from a German Jew,
who traded in glass beads, and adorned his notepaper
and visiting-cards with the inscription:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"By Royal Warrant to His Majesty the King of
Zumba-Lumba."</p>
</div>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_279" id="Page_279" title="[Pg 279]"></a>
Now the King knew nothing of revolution, not even
the name, and there was not a bolshevik to be found
in all his dominions. Nevertheless, he felt instinctively
that the Admiral's behaviour was an outrage against
the supreme authority vested in himself by right
divine.</p>

<p>But what could he do against the Admiral and his
four guns? Of the four hundred warriors that composed
his army, only about half were armed with
muskets of an ancient type, procured by the Admiral
himself in days gone by. And the ammunition
amounted to practically nil, the Admiral having been
far-sighted enough to store most of the cartridges on
board the gunboats, serving out a small allowance
now and then to the King and his army, wherewith
to keep lions and tigers at a respectful distance from
the huts of the capital.</p>

<p>The King thought over the matter for quite a while,
and at last sent for one of his numerous brothers-in-law.
Here, as in other kingdoms, the family relationship
was a most useful factor, providing a kind of
mutual insurance in support of the throne.</p>

<p>His Majesty's kinsman, then, was appointed Envoy
Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary, and instructed
to proceed, in that capacity, to the neighbouring
territory of Hampa-Denga, and inform the
British Resident there that His Majesty the King of
Zumba-Lumba wished to place himself under British
protectorate at once.</p>

<p>One morning, a few days later, the Admiral lay in
his hammock on deck, H.M.'s late consort in another
hammock at his side, fanning him with a palm-branch.
He was in the best of spirits, refreshed alike by his
morning bath and an excellent breakfast. The<a class="pagenum" name="Page_280" id="Page_280" title="[Pg 280]"></a>
parrots were chattering noisily in the great fragrant
agaves on shore, birds of paradise rocked on the
topmost crests of the palms, with impertinent young
monkeys vainly trying to tweak their tails. The
ex-queen chewed betel and smiled at him, and he, in
return, tickled the soles of her feet till she screamed.
It was a perfect little idyll; a very paradise.</p>

<p>Neither of the pair noticed anything unusual until
suddenly a young English officer appeared on deck.</p>

<p>He had come, it appeared, to deliver a dispatch to
the Officer Commanding the Fleet. And this is how
it ran:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,&mdash;Pursuant to negotiations with His Majesty
the King of Zumba-Lumba, I have the honour to
inform you that His Majesty has this day placed
himself under British protectorate.</p>

<p>"Accordingly, the Zumba-Lumba navy will henceforward
be under the Administration of the Governor
at Hampa-Denga and the naval station there.</p>

<p class="b0">"The bearer of this, Sub-Lieutenant Algernon Smith,
is deputed to take over for the present the command of
the Zumba-Lumba Fleet.&mdash;I have the honour to be,
Sir, your obedient servant,</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">C. W. Melville St. Patrick</span>, C.B., R.N.<span class="corr" title='removed: "'></span></p>

<p>"H.B.M.S. <i>Cyclope</i>, 6th February 1873."</p>
</div>

<p>The Admiral's first impulse was to take this young
spark by the collar and throw him overboard, as he
had done a day or so before with His Majesty and his
wife. But on glancing over the side, he perceived,
under shelter of a small island, the white painted hull
of H.M.S. <i>Cyclope</i>, and thought better of it; instead,
he turned to the bearer of the letter, and, with kindly<a class="pagenum" name="Page_281" id="Page_281" title="[Pg 281]"></a>
condescension, invited him to come below and have a
drink.</p>

<p>Whereupon they descended to the cabin, where the
Admiral initiated his young colleague into the maritime
affairs of the Zumba-Lumba.</p>

<p>Then the Admiral packed up his things.</p>

<p>He regretted that he had not a visiting-card, not
even a photograph to give his successor, but handed
over instead the younger wife of his late master as a
trifling souvenir.</p>

<p>On reaching the deck, to his indescribable annoyance
he perceived the King, with his brother-in-law,
his four hundred warriors, and the elder wife, standing
on the shore, slapping their stomachs, the superlative
expression of mischievous delight in those parts.</p>

<p>The foregoing brief narrative is to be taken as a
truthful and dispassionate account of the manner in
which the Admiral attained his title and dignity.</p>

<p>The remainder of his doings during his sojourn
abroad, before he returned to settle down in his native
town on the coast, is soon told.</p>

<p>The Admiral was not a man to be long idle, and, as
a sailor, he could always find a way. He captained
vessels for Chinese and Japanese owners, both sail
and steam. He started a fleet of tugs at Tientsin,
and obtained a concession for dredging the harbour
of Shanghai, with a host of other things, making a
very considerable fortune out of the whole.</p>

<p>Then he turned his steps towards home, and purchased
the house of his fathers on the hill just above
the Custom House.</p>

<p>He dismantled the old place almost entirely of its
furniture, and had it fitted up according to his own
ideas, as a sort of bungalow.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_282" id="Page_282" title="[Pg 282]"></a>
There were weapons all over the place; spears,
bows and arrows, pistols and guns of all sorts. Pot-bellied
idols smirked in every corner; lion and tiger
skins were spread on the floor. But the drawing-room
on the ground floor and the office in the side
wing, that had been his father's in the old days, he
left untouched. He even went so far as to have the
successive layers of wallpaper, that in course of years
had been hung one over another, carefully removed
one by one until he came to the identical one that had
adorned the place when he was a little lad and his
mother and father were still alive. Then he went
about all over the town, trying to buy up the old pieces
of furniture that had been sold and scattered about
thirty or forty years before. He went far up into one
of the outlying villages to get hold of one particular
birchwood cabinet which he had learned was to be
found there. He also managed to unearth his father's
old writing-desk, and had it set up in its old place in
the "office." And at last he really succeeded in
restoring the two rooms almost completely to their
former state. Then and not till then was he satisfied,
and began, as it were, to live his life over again.</p>

<p>The Admiral was now a man about sixty. A giant
of a man to look at, with hands and arms of an athlete
and well proportioned.</p>

<p>He had a big, curved nose, a trifle over large, perhaps.
And the eyes that shone out from beneath the
great bushy brows were not of the sort that give way.
His whole face bore the stamp of unscrupulous firmness,
softened a little, however, by the heavy whiskers
generally affected by naval officers in those days, and
which in his case were now perfectly white.</p>

<p>When the Admiral came home he brought with him<a class="pagenum" name="Page_283" id="Page_283" title="[Pg 283]"></a>
a little girl twelve years old. A queer little creature
she was, with somewhat darker skin than we are
accustomed to see, and brilliant black eyes.</p>

<p>"My daughter," said the Admiral, and that was all
the information to be obtained from that quarter.</p>

<p>It was generally surmised that she must be the offspring
of his alliance with the young Queen of Zumba-Lumba,
who had, as we know, been on board the gunboat;
<i>ergo</i>, she was of royal blood. And the whole
town accordingly styled her simply "The Princess."</p>

<p>As to whether he had contracted other alliances
elsewhere none could say, for the old servant, or lady
companion, whom he had brought with him from
abroad, was dumb as a door-post when the talk
turned in that direction.</p>

<p>She was English and somewhat over fifty. Miss
Jenkins was her name, but the Admiral invariably
called her "Missa." Missa was the only person who
ever ventured to oppose him. Now and then the pair of
them might be heard arguing hotly, always in English,
till at last he would shout at her: "Mind your own
business, please!" This was his stock phrase for
terminating an argument when he did not care to
discuss the matter further.</p>

<p>The Princess was to be confirmed. And there was
a great to-do in view of the event.</p>

<p>The parson, naturally enough, requested the usual
particulars&mdash;parents' names, place of birth, date,
certificate of vaccination, etc. The whole town was
curious now, and great excitement prevailed; at last
the mystery would be solved. The parson had to go
down to the Admiral himself, and inform him, as
politely as possible, that the law required compliance
with certain formalities; an especially important<a class="pagenum" name="Page_284" id="Page_284" title="[Pg 284]"></a>
point was that the names of both father and mother
should be correctly stated.</p>

<p>"She has no mother," the Admiral categorically
declared.</p>

<p>"But, my dear Admiral, she must have had a
mother. In the ordinary course of nature...."</p>

<p>"The course of nature's extraordinary where she
comes from."</p>

<p>"But you must have been married, surely?"</p>

<p>The Admiral glared, and his bushy brows contracted.</p>

<p>"Who?"</p>

<p>"You."</p>

<p>"I?" The Admiral chuckled.</p>

<p>"Yes," said the parson, lowering his voice a little;
he was beginning to feel a trifle uncomfortable.</p>

<p>"Oh, in the tropics, you know, there are no such
formalities."</p>

<p>"But surely that's immoral?"</p>

<p>"We don't know the word in those parts." And
the Admiral rose to his feet.</p>

<p>The parson plucked up courage and said quietly:
"But you yourself were a Christian, Admiral, were
you not?"</p>

<p>"Mind your own business, please," answered the
Admiral, at the same time opening the door politely,
that the parson might slip out. The latter also
availed himself of the chance; he was not without a
certain uneasy feeling that if he failed to do so now,
his exit might take a less peaceable form.</p>

<p>How the question was finally settled the writer
cannot say; the fact remains that the town was no
wiser than before.</p>

<p>The Princess was confirmed, and received into
the best society of the town, as one of themselves.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_285" id="Page_285" title="[Pg 285]"></a>
She was slender and finely built, with a pretty face
and charming eyes. The only thing that marked
her as different from the other girls was the yellowish-brown
of her skin, and even this seemed to be growing
fainter as the years went by.</p>

<p>As to her antecedents, she herself never referred to
the subject, and no one was ever indelicate enough
to ask her.</p>

<p>Altogether, then, matters were going very well indeed,
both for the Admiral and the Princess. He
began to feel at home in his old town, and did not
regret having settled down there.</p>

<p>And the townsfolk, for the most part, gradually got
used to the rough old fellow and his ways, though there
were still a few who declared they could not "abide"
him.</p>

<p>Consul Endresen, for instance, and Henry B.
Karsten the ship-chandler were not accustomed to
be treated with such utter disregard by a so-called
"Admiral."</p>

<p>Admiral indeed! Ha, ha! The whole thing was
a farce. The old humbug; he was no more an
admiral than Ferryman Arne. They turned up their
noses at him, but kept their distance all the same, with
an instinctive feeling that he might literally go so far
as to take them by the scruff of the neck if he felt like it.</p>

<p>The two firms were old-established and respected
in the place, having occupied a leading position in the
commercial life of the town for generations, by reason
of their wealth, superior education and incontestable
ability. And in consequence neither felt at home elsewhere
than in their native place, where they were used
to play first fiddle generally. There was no competition
between the two; they were wise enough to<a class="pagenum" name="Page_286" id="Page_286" title="[Pg 286]"></a>
realise that any such conflicting element might easily
destroy the lead their fathers had established.</p>

<p>But they would not suffer any outsider to intrude
on their domains, whether in business or in social life;
here they shared in common an undisputed supremacy.</p>

<p>The young Karstens and Endresens were brought
up according to the principles of their respective
dynasties, and were sent abroad for their commercial
education, that they might be properly fitted for the
distinguished position they would be called to fill.</p>

<p>Skipper Hansen and Blacksmith Olsen's offspring
found it was no easy matter to compete with them.</p>

<p>Wealth, however, was the only thing they really
respected at heart, the old as well as the younger
generation.</p>

<p>They would devote themselves several times a week
to calculating how much the other notables might be
worth, and were ill pleased that anyone should be
better off than themselves.</p>

<p>It was even said that old Karsten took to his bed
out of sheer envy on hearing that someone else had
made a heap of money.</p>

<p>Endresen was wilier and rarely showed his feelings,
but it was a well-known fact that he would be irritable
and unreasonable when he heard of others making a
successful deal. The clerks in his office said so.</p>

<p>Then came the sudden appearance of the Admiral
in their midst. At first they did not understand this
brutal and domineering force. The old Karstens
themselves had been accounted proud and haughty
enough&mdash;though perhaps not exactly brutal; but
they were, as we have said, of a privileged caste.
But this so-called Admiral, what was he? A scion
of the town, it is true, inasmuch as he was a son of the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_287" id="Page_287" title="[Pg 287]"></a>
old shipbroker who had formerly occupied the house
now purchased by the newcomer. But he, the father,
that is, had been no more than a "measly broker,"
who had just managed to scrape some sort of a livelihood
together by fixing contracts for the vessels owned
by Endresens and selling coal to the Karstens' factories.</p>

<p>The Admiral himself, however, was evidently rich,
a man of unbounded wealth, indeed, and enough to
buy up Endresen's and Karsten's together. His
Income Tax Return spoke plainly in plain figures;
no farce about that! The fact was there, and could
not be ignored; an abominable thing, but none the
less true. There was nothing for it but to give him
his title of Admiral, and with a serious face. Had it
been some poor devil without means, they would have
jeered him out of the place.</p>

<p>When the Admiral came striding up the main
street, a stout, imposing figure, even Henry B. Karsten
himself had to make way. He would wave one hand
in salutation and say "Morning!" in English, using
the same form of greeting to all, with the sole exception
of Arne the Ferryman, who was always
honoured with a shake of the hand.</p>

<p>But the Princess fluttered about the place like a
dainty little butterfly. Old Missa looked after her as
well as she could, and never lost sight of her if she
could help it. But the Princess seemed to have wings!
She would manage somehow or other to vanish in a
moment: <i lang="it">presto!</i> gone! And there was Missa left
behind in despair.</p>

<p>She would soon come fluttering back again, however,
smiling and irresistible as ever, and throw her arms
round Missa's neck and beg to be forgiven.</p>

<p>The Admiral grumbled and swore he would "put<a class="pagenum" name="Page_288" id="Page_288" title="[Pg 288]"></a>
the youngster in irons" if she did not keep to the
house; but the youngster only laughed, perched herself
on the Admiral's knee, and pulled his long white
whiskers; and then he might fall to dreaming ...
dreaming of distant lands, of moonlight nights beneath
the palms and agaves, long and long ago.</p>

<p>He fussed and grumbled and stamped about the
house, calling Missa a lumbering old mud-barge that
couldn't keep a proper look-out; but the Princess
fluttered on as before, entirely undismayed.</p>

<p>There was to be a grand festival in the town,
a charity entertainment in aid of the Children's Home.</p>

<p>All the young people of the town were to assist.
There was to be a theatrical performance, and an
exhibition of dancing on the stage. Young Endresen
and Karsten junior, of course, took a leading part in
the arrangements; "for a charitable object," they
could do no less. It was generally understood, however,
that the real object of both young gentlemen
was to see something of the Princess.</p>

<p>The two heirs-apparent waged a violent struggle
for the Princess's favour. True, they had been duly
instructed by their respective fathers, as these by
their respective fathers before them, in the principle
that "the house of Endresen" or "the house of
Karsten" expected every son to do his duty&mdash;<i>i.e.</i> not
to marry beneath his rank, and also, to "consolidate
the standing of the firm," as it was conveniently put.
As regards the question of rank, this was, in the present
instance, a somewhat debatable one, but the question
of consolidation was plain as could be wished. Here
was a considerable fortune to be gained for the town,
and thus for one of the two firms. It was certainly
worth a struggle.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_289" id="Page_289" title="[Pg 289]"></a>
The Admiral had grumbled and stormed for a
whole week before consenting to the Princess participating
in the affair.</p>

<p>The Princess was to dance&mdash;a dance she had composed
herself.</p>

<p>There was great excitement; the local theatre
was crammed. The leading notabilities of the place
had booked up all the stalls at more than twice the
usual prices. Everyone who could get about at all
was present. Even old Endresen, who generally
affected to despise all such theatrical tomfoolery, had
found a seat in the front row, and confided to his
next-door neighbour that he had seen "Pepita" dance
in Paris&mdash;had even thrown her a bouquet&mdash;"but I
was very young, then, I must say," he added, with a
smile.</p>

<p>Old folk in the town still told the story of how
Endresen, as a young man, had led a gay life in Paris;
a life so gay, and so expensive, that the Endresen
senior of the period had promptly ordered him to
come back home at once. "And he's turned out a
real good man for all that," they would hasten to
add.</p>

<p>The theatrical performance went off quite successfully,
but without arousing any great amount of
enthusiasm. There was applause, of course, and the
principal actors had to appear before the curtain;
the leading lady was duly praised for her interpretation.
But it was the Princess all were waiting for.</p>

<p>At last the curtain rose. The scenery was ordinary
enough: a "woodland scene," with the usual trees
and a pale moon painted on the background. It was
the standard setting, as used for classical tragedy,
vaudeville and, in fact, almost anything.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_290" id="Page_290" title="[Pg 290]"></a>
Enter the Princess, daintily as if on wings. She
wore a long white robe, that moved in graceful waves
about her slender figure; diamonds shone and
glittered in her hair. No one present had ever seen
such stones, and young Endresen swore they were
genuine. She wore a row of pearls too round her
neck, and heavy gold rings about her bare
ankles.</p>

<p>The spectators seemed literally to hold their breath
with every nerve on the strain. The little figure up
there was like a vision; her feet hardly touched the
floor.</p>

<p>First, she glided softly across the stage, her white
robe rising and falling like the gentle swell of the sea
on a summer's day, then faster and faster. She
whirled round, bent right down to the ground, and
fell in a heap, only to spring up again in a moment
and whirl round again at a furious pace.</p>

<p>The public was simply spell-bound. No one had
ever seen, ever dreamed of such a sight.</p>

<p>Her great black eyes shone towards them, while
that queer smile played about her mouth; she seemed
to move in a world of her own. The dusty old
scenery faded into nothingness; they saw but the
girl herself, and sat staring, enchanted, hypnotised.</p>

<p>Gone! It was over. The curtain fell, and a silence
as in church reigned for some seconds after; the
spectators were getting their breath again, so to
speak. Then something unusual happened. Old
Endresen rose to his feet, clapped his hands and
cried: "Encore, encore!"</p>

<p>Forgotten were his seventy years, his dignity,
everything; he was young again, young and infatuated
as he had been in Paris half a century before,<a class="pagenum" name="Page_291" id="Page_291" title="[Pg 291]"></a>
when he joined in the cry of the thousands shouting,
"<i lang="fr">Vive Pepita, vive l'Espagne!</i>"</p>

<p>At last the general enthusiasm found vent in shouts
of applause like the roar of a bursting dam. Handkerchiefs
were waved; all rose to their feet.</p>

<p>Then once more she glided in across the stage.</p>

<p>Again an outburst of delighted applause.</p>

<p>One young man in particular seemed intent on
outdoing all the rest&mdash;a fair-haired little fellow with
a snub nose and pince-nez.</p>

<p>He sat in the stage box, and his shrill voice could
be heard all over the theatre as he cried in unmistakable
west coast dialect: "Bravo, bravissimo!
Bravo, bravissimo!"</p>

<p>All looked at him and laughed. It was Doffen
Eriksen, or Doffen, simply, as he was generally called.
He came from Mandal originally, but had been several
years in the town, first as head clerk at Eriksen's,
and later with other local firms. His natural tendency
to continual opposition, and lack of respect for his
superiors, indeed for all recognised authority, prevented
him from ever keeping a situation long.</p>

<p>He had recently gone over to the Socialist party,
but at the very first meeting had abused his new
comrades with emphasis: thieves, scoundrels and
political mugwumps were among the expressions he
used. The last in particular aroused their indignation,
and after a few weeks he was excluded from the
party. He was now a free-lance, with no regular
employment.</p>

<p>Then it happened that the Admiral advertised for
an assistant to help in the office. The Admiral used
his office chiefly as a place where he could give way
to bad language as often as he pleased; he felt he<a class="pagenum" name="Page_292" id="Page_292" title="[Pg 292]"></a>
ought to keep himself in training, and arguing with
Missa was too milk and watery for his taste.</p>

<p>The work in the office consisted for the most part
of keeping the accounts of a couple of small vessels
which he owned, together with the cutting out of
coupons and cashier work. The Admiral himself
never condescended to take up a pen; one had coolies
to do that sort of thing, he would say.</p>

<p>His two skippers were rated and bullied every time
they came home from a voyage, but they were so
used to the treatment that they never noticed it.</p>

<p>It was worse, however, for the clerk, who had to
endure the same thing day after day.</p>

<p>During the last year or so, the Admiral had had
four or five different specimens in the office, but they
always made haste to better themselves at the earliest
opportunity, or simply "got the sack." They were
all either "a pack of fools that couldn't think for
themselves," or "a lot of impertinent donkeys that
fancied they knew everything."</p>

<p>And when, after one of his usual outbursts, the
unfortunate in question found it too much, and gave
notice to leave, the Admiral's standard answer was
"All right! then I'll have to get another idiot from
somewhere."</p>

<p>Doffen applied for the post, referring to his previous
experience, and stated that he had been "simply
thrown out of various situations, not through any
lack of ability, but because the principals were so
many blockheads, who could not bear to hear a free
and independent man express his frank opinion."
He was at present disengaged, on the market, and
perfectly willing to undertake any kind of work whatever,
"even to playing croquet." The Admiral read<a class="pagenum" name="Page_293" id="Page_293" title="[Pg 293]"></a>
the application through; it was the only one he had
received in answer to his advertisement.</p>

<p>He grunted once or twice as he read. Missa laid
down her needlework and prepared for a direct attack.</p>

<p>The opening seemed to take his fancy, but when
he came to the part about playing croquet, he exclaimed:</p>

<p>"What the devil does the fellow mean? Playing
croquet?"</p>

<p>"Who?"</p>

<p>"Oh, the new slave I'm getting for the office."</p>

<p>"Well, why not. He might play with Baby."</p>

<p>"Oh go to...." The Admiral got up and put the
application into the fire.</p>

<p>Next day Doffen, as the sole applicant, was
accorded the post. He sat down at the high desk, on
one of those scaffold-like office stools with a big
wooden screw in the middle. It was a matter of some
difficulty to climb up, Doffen being small of stature,
but with the aid of some acrobatic backwork, he soon
learned to manage it.</p>

<p>Opposite his place was the Admiral's seat. He
loved to sit there, in the very spot where his father
had sat, year after year, as far back as he could
remember.</p>

<p>It was not often the Admiral showed any evidence
of gentler feeling, but it happened at times, when
very old folk chanced to come into the office. They
would stand still for a long time, looking round in
wonder, and finally exclaim:</p>

<p>"Why, if it's not exactly as it used to be in your
father's time!" and then the Admiral would jump
down from his stool and slap the speaker on the
shoulder.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_294" id="Page_294" title="[Pg 294]"></a>
During the first few days Doffen had not seen much
of the Admiral, who had hardly looked in at the office
at all. He wanted to get some idea of the "new
slave's" manner and behaviour before he sat down.</p>

<p>On the day after the performance, the Admiral
walked in and took his seat. Silence for a few
minutes.</p>

<p>At last Doffen thought he ought to say something,
and observed with the utmost coolness:</p>

<p>"Your daughter danced very nicely last night."</p>

<p>"H'm." The Admiral only grunted, and looked
out of the window. Doffen imagined he had not
heard.</p>

<p>"I was saying, Admiral, your daughter gave a
deuced fine performance last night." Doffen raised
his voice a little, thinking the Admiral must be hard
of hearing.</p>

<p>"And what the devil's that got to do with you?"
Doffen slammed down the lid of his desk with a
bang.</p>

<p>"To do with me? Why, I paid for my ticket,
anyway."</p>

<p>"I didn't ask her to dance for you, my lad, and
devil take me but it shall be the last time."</p>

<p>"What's that to do with me?" retorted Doffen
coldly.</p>

<p>The Admiral began to feel in his element; here at
last was a man who could stand up to him.</p>

<p>"Can't you see she's like a young palm? Haven't
you got a spice of feeling in you, man?"</p>

<p>"That's my business, Admiral."</p>

<p>The Admiral stopped short. He was on the point
of bringing out his own favourite retort: "Mind your
own business," and here was this fellow taking the<a class="pagenum" name="Page_295" id="Page_295" title="[Pg 295]"></a>
very words out of his mouth. He went out of the
room without a word.</p>

<p>Several times after that the Admiral launched his
attacks at the new clerk, but invariably got as good
as he gave. More than that, Doffen would even take
the offensive himself.</p>

<p>"What do you think you're doing with these two
hulks of yours, Admiral, eh?"</p>

<p>"Hulks?"</p>

<p>"Yes, these two old wooden arks. The skippers
go floundering about like hunted cockroaches at sea,
and the ships themselves go pottering from pillar to
post; it's high time you got some system into the
business."</p>

<p>"You mind your own business, please," said the
Admiral, rapping on the desk. But at that the other
let himself go in his barbarous dialect, like a gramophone:</p>

<p>"It is my business, and as long as I'm stuck here on
this spindle-shanked contrivance of a stool I'll say
what I think. Take me for a dumb beast, do you?
Not me! It'll take more than you know to stop me
talking. We're used to rough weather where I come
from."</p>

<p>And Doffen went on in the same strain long after
the Admiral had got out of the room. The Admiral
himself, however, listened with delight from the other
side of the door, as Doffen thumped his desk again and
again, still in the full torrent of speech. It was worth
while going to the office now. No more sitting glowering
at a servile, stooping-shouldered little scrap of a
man, who scribbled away for dear life and shrank in
terror every time he entered. Now he would generally
find the room in a thick haze of tobacco smoke so that<a class="pagenum" name="Page_296" id="Page_296" title="[Pg 296]"></a>
he himself could scarcely breathe. Doffen's pipe was
rarely out of his mouth. Several times the Admiral
had invited him, in well-chosen words, to take his
beastly pipe to a hotter place, but only to be met
with the retort that it might be as well, seeing there
was never a box of matches here when a man wanted
a light. The Admiral came more and more often to
the office now. Here at least he could be sure of
getting a fair go at any time, for Doffen was always
open for a game.</p>

<p>After a while a tone of jovial roughness grew up
between the two of them, and authority was relegated
to the background, exactly as Doffen wished.</p>

<p>Altogether there was every prospect of an idyllic
understanding between the two parties, until one day
Doffen fell in love, over head and ears in love beyond
recall.</p>

<p>The Princess had captivated him completely. If
she chanced to come into the office for a stamp, or to
deliver a letter, his heart would start hammering like
a riveting machine.</p>

<p>His brain was so confused he hardly knew what he
was doing. He would lie awake at nights in a torment
of hatred against the Endresen and Karsten boys,
who were rivals for her favour. And, after all, who
was better fitted than he? Had he not got the
Admiral's papers into proper order? Had he not
managed to knock the old porpoise himself into shape,
till he was grown docile and tractable as a tame
rabbit?</p>

<p>The Princess smiled on Doffen as she smiled on
everyone, and each of course fancied himself specially
favoured. Even old Consul Endresen brightened up
at the sight of her, and was always ready to stop for a<a class="pagenum" name="Page_297" id="Page_297" title="[Pg 297]"></a>
chat; he would draw himself up and endeavour to
play the gallant cavalier. He had been a widower
now for many years, and it was commonly believed
that he was not unwilling to enter once more into the
bonds of holy matrimony, should a favourable opportunity
occur.</p>

<p>The Admiral growled fiercely whenever Baby was
out, and Missa wept and wrung her hands over the
young ladies of the present day&mdash;particularly in this
barbarous country.</p>

<p>Paying attentions? It was one continual paying
of attentions all day long. The young men of the
place were sick with longing when she was not to be
seen, and Doffen suffered most, having occasion to
see her every day. To make matters worse, she had
taken to coming into the office more frequently of
late, and would perch herself up on her father's high
stool. There she would sit and gossip with him for
half an hour at a time. Six times a week at least
Doffen was in the seventh heaven of delight. She
asked him questions about everything under the sun,
consulting him on every imaginable subject. And
then she would thank him with one of those wonderful
smiles, and a look from those dark eyes of hers&mdash;oh,
it was beyond all bearing.</p>

<p>Doffen pondered long and deep, seeking some way
of coming to the point.</p>

<p>He must not let the others get there before him, and
he decided on a <i lang="fr">coup de main</i>, which, as he had read
in the life of Napoleon, was the proper way to win a
battle. He would go directly to the Admiral himself.</p>

<p>One morning, then, the Admiral came into the
office, looked long and attentively at Doffen, and
finally said:</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_298" id="Page_298" title="[Pg 298]"></a>
"What's the matter with you, man? You're
getting to look like a plucked goose, for all the sign
of life in you!" And he jumped up on his stool.</p>

<p>"It's a dog's life being a man," declared Doffen
sententiously.</p>

<p>"You find it easier, no doubt, to be a monkey,"
said the Admiral.</p>

<p>"Well, anyway, I'd be a sort of relative of yours,"
said Doffen. "And it's as well to be on good terms
with the devil, they say."</p>

<p>The Admiral laughed. This was a bad sign.</p>

<p>Ugh! So Doffen was going to be funny, and make
jokes. That sort of polite conversation was a thing
the Admiral detested; it was blank tomfoolery; soup
without salt.</p>

<p>No; what he enjoyed was proper high temper on
both sides like a couple of flints striking sparks. Anything
short of that made life a washy, milk-and-watery
dreariness. And most people, according to his
opinion, were just a set of slack-kneed molly-coddles
that sheered off at the first encounter. Devil take
their measly souls! When he did happen to meet
with a fellow-citizen who could get into a proper
towering passion, he felt like falling on his neck out
of sheer gratitude and admiration. Here, at last, was
a <em>man</em>! Women he placed in a separate category:
they were "fellow-creatures," just as rabbits, for
instance, whose chief business in life was to have
young ones.</p>

<p>Doffen, then, ought to have realised that the
moment was not opportune for a <i lang="fr">coup de main</i>. He
had, however, only the day before, seen the Princess
out for a long walk with young Endresen, and he felt
he must act promptly, so he went on:</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_299" id="Page_299" title="[Pg 299]"></a>
"You could make a happy man of me, Admiral!"</p>

<p>"You're happy enough as it is, man."</p>

<p>"No, not quite. There's one thing wanting."</p>

<p>"And what's that?"</p>

<p>"Your daughter&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Hey? Are you off your head?"</p>

<p>"Your daughter," repeated Doffen. "I'd be a
good husband to her, and a proper son-in-law to
you."</p>

<p>"I'll give you son-in-law!" roared the Admiral,
and, picking up the big Directory, he sent it full at
Doffen's chest; the latter, taken by surprise, came
tumbling down from his stool, and fell against the wood-box
in the corner.</p>

<p>"You miserable nincompoop!" snorted the
Admiral, as he rushed out of the room.</p>

<p>Doffen lay in the corner by the wood-box, groaning
pitifully. The noise had been heard all over the
house, and the Princess came rushing in to see what
was the matter<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span></p>

<p>"Are you ill, Eriksen?" she asked, taking his hand.</p>

<p>"Oh, I think I must be dying," he said, touching
his chest.</p>

<p>"No, no," said she. "It's not so bad as all that."</p>

<p>"And if so, I shall have died for you."</p>

<p>"Let me help you up on the sofa, now, and I'll fetch
you a glass of water."</p>

<p>With her support he limped across to the sofa.</p>

<p>"Better now?" she asked, handing him the glass
of water.</p>

<p>"Oh, I'm so fond of you," said he, and tried to take
her hand.</p>

<p>"Oh, do stop that nonsense!" said she, with a
laugh.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_300" id="Page_300" title="[Pg 300]"></a>
"Stop? How can I stop when I love you as deeply
as ... as ..." he paused, unable to find a sufficiently
powerful expression, then suddenly the inspiration
came, and, raising himself on his elbow, he went
on&mdash;"as deeply as is possible <em>in this line of business</em>!"</p>

<p>"Oh no, really; you can talk about this another
time, you know. Come along now, Eriksen, pull
yourself together and be a man."</p>

<p>"Then it's not a final refusal&mdash;not a harsh and cruel
'no' such as your father flung at me just now&mdash;with
that heavy book? Say it's not that!"</p>

<p>But she was gone.</p>

<p>Doffen lay back on the sofa once more, closed his
eyes, and thought of her. At last he fell asleep, and
lay there, never noticing when the Admiral peeped in
through the door, "to see if the carcass was still
alive." The sound of Doffen's snoring, however,
reassured him, and he went away again, contented
and relieved.</p>

<p>The Princess sat in her room, highly amused with
the thought of her latest admirer. What a funny
creature he was! She rather liked him really, for all
that; he was always so willing and kind, and if one's
ardent worshippers themselves agree to be reduced to
the status of "just friends," why, it may be very
handy at times to have them in reserve. No, she
would not quarrel with Eriksen, because of this, not
at all.</p>

<p>But, to tell the truth, it was getting quite a nuisance
with all these admirers. Everyone of them was always
wanting to meet her and go for a walk with her, and
talk of love! Oh, she was so utterly weary of them
all. These simpletons who imagined she was going
to settle down and stay in this little place all her life!</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_301" id="Page_301" title="[Pg 301]"></a>
Heavens alive, what an existence! No, thank you,
not if she knew it!</p>

<p>It was annoying, in this frame of mind, to recollect
that she promised Endresen junior to meet him at
twelve o'clock by the big pond in the park. Still, a
promise was a promise; she would have to go.</p>

<p>And lo, he came up with a huge bouquet of pale
yellow roses, her favourite flower, as he knew, tied
round with a piece of thin red ribbon.</p>

<p>"When the roses are faded, you can take the ribbon
and bind me with it," he said.</p>

<p>"When the roses have faded? Oh, but that won't
be for a long time yet&mdash;thank goodness." And she
laughed.</p>

<p>"Well, so much the better; you can tie me up at
once."</p>

<p>"But suppose I don't want to?"</p>

<p>"Then I'll die, Baby. Go off and shoot myself, or
drown myself."</p>

<p>"Drown yourself? Oh, do it now. I'll bet anything
you wouldn't dare."</p>

<p>"I assure you I mean it," he said, placing one hand
on his heart.</p>

<p>"Well, now, let me see what sort of a man you are,
Endresen. Walk round the edge of the pond here
five times&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"And what then?"</p>

<p>"Then&mdash;oh, then you shall have&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Yes?"</p>

<p>"&mdash;My sincere admiration, let us say. That'll do to
go on with." And she smiled mischievously.</p>

<p>He jumped up on to the narrow stone edging of the
pond and began balancing his way carefully along,
the Princess walking by his side, counting the rounds.<a class="pagenum" name="Page_302" id="Page_302" title="[Pg 302]"></a>
One&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;four times round. "One more,
and you've done it," she said encouragingly.</p>

<p>"And then I've won your hand, haven't I?" he
cried.</p>

<p>"Once more round, and&mdash;we'll think about it.
Now, last lap!"</p>

<p>He stepped cautiously along, and was nearing the
end of the fifth round, when all of a sudden she jumped
up and gave him a push that sent him into the water
up to his waist.</p>

<p>"No, that's not fair, Baby. I won."</p>

<p>She danced up and down, clapping her hands and
laughing delightedly.</p>

<p>"Adieu, Endresen! my sincere admiration. It was
splendid! But I don't think I'll walk home with you
now, or people might think you'd been drowning
yourself for my sake." And she ran off. Coming
through the town she encountered old Consul Endresen,
who stopped, as usual, to talk to her.</p>

<p>"You're looking younger than ever, Consul," said
the Princess.</p>

<p>"Am I, though? Oh, you know how to get at an
old man's heart, little sunbeam that you are! Looking
younger than ever, eh&mdash;and I'm sixty-seven to-day,"
which, by the way, was three years less than the
truth.</p>

<p>"To-day? Oh, then I must wish you many happy
returns&mdash;and here, let me give you these flowers."</p>

<p>He stopped in surprise.</p>

<p>"But, my dearest child, you don't mean it, surely?
These flowers, these charming roses, they were for
somebody else now, I'm sure."</p>

<p>"Not a bit of it&mdash;they're for you."</p>

<p>"Why, then, since you are pleased to command, I<a class="pagenum" name="Page_303" id="Page_303" title="[Pg 303]"></a>
bow&mdash;and many thanks." And, bowing deeply, he
took her hand and kissed it.</p>

<p>The Princess hurried homeward, laughing at the
face of young Endresen when his father appeared with
the flowers.</p>

<p>While all this was going on, Karsten junior was
sitting deep in thought as to whether he ought not to
propose to the Princess himself. He had sounded
his father on the subject, and the latter had made no
positive objection to the match. True, it was not
altogether <i lang="fr">comme il faut</i>, but still, it might be passed
over&mdash;though he certainly considered the old man
intolerable.</p>

<p>Karsten junior was not much of a speaker, and
determined, therefore, to write instead. But he found
this, too, a ticklish business. He had never "operated
in that market" before, and was altogether unacquainted
with the article known as love. The opening
phrase of the contemplated letter was a stumbling-block
to begin with. Should he write "Miss," or
"Miss Baby," or "Dear Miss Baby"&mdash;or even straight
out, "Dear Baby"&mdash;but no, he must do the thing
correctly in due form. The house of Karsten was an
old-established firm, and he must make this evident.</p>

<p>He decided at last for "Miss" simply.</p>

<p>"Referring to our conversation of 7th inst., I
hereby beg to inform you ..." etc.</p>

<p>He wrote on his sister's ivory paper, put the letter
neatly in an envelope, and sent it off.</p>

<p>The Princess laughed when she got the letter. She
read it aloud to herself, and exclaimed with conviction:
"What a fool!"</p>

<p>Altogether it had been a day of amusing experiences
for the Princess, but there was more to come. Yet<a class="pagenum" name="Page_304" id="Page_304" title="[Pg 304]"></a>
another letter arrived, that filled her with unbounded
astonishment. It ran as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear little Friend</span>,&mdash;Do not be startled
at receiving these lines from an old man. George
Sand was once asked when a woman ceased to love,
and she answered, Never. But if I were asked now,
when a man ceases to love, I should answer, for my
own part, I no longer love, I only admire and worship.
You will, I am sure, have realised, little friend, that
it is you I worship, your talents, your beauty, your
goodness of heart and brilliant spirit. What can I
offer you? A faithful protector, a good home, in
peace and harmony.</p>

<p class="b0">"Think this over now, think well and wisely, and
keep what I have said a secret between ourselves.
Whatever you may do, whichever way your life may
turn, your happiness will be my greatest wish.&mdash;Affectionately
yours,</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">C. Endresen, Sen</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>This time she did not laugh, but took a match and
burned the letter in the stove.</p>

<p>"This must be the end," she murmured to herself.
"I won't stay here any longer with all these ridiculous
men." She thought and pondered for several days
until the Admiral came in one day and said he was
going away for a week or so on business. In a moment
her plan was made. She said nothing to him of what
was in her mind; he would never have understood, and
it would have made no end of trouble all round.</p>

<p>But she would take Missa into her confidence. Missa
had been a mother to her from the moment she realised
she was living in this world; she would tell her all.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_305" id="Page_305" title="[Pg 305]"></a>
"Missa," she said, throwing her arms round her
neck, "I can't stand this any longer."</p>

<p>"There, there now; what is it, child?"</p>

<p>"I can't bear to live in this dreadful place. I must
get away somehow."</p>

<p>"Oh dear, dear! it's just what I think. A dreadful
place."</p>

<p>"Yes, there you are. And we'll go away, Missa,
you and I, out into the beautiful wide world."</p>

<p>"But for Heaven's sake, what about your father?"</p>

<p>"Father mustn't know about it. We'll just go off
by ourselves&mdash;run away, Missa dear."</p>

<p>"Run away! God bless me no, child! The
Admiral...."</p>

<p>The Princess begged and prayed, using all her powers
of persuasion and caresses, until Missa was gradually
stripped of all arguments to the contrary, and finally
rose to her feet.</p>

<p>"But, Baby dear, how shall we make our living?"</p>

<p>But at that the Princess jumped up and began
dancing wildly around.</p>

<p>"Missa, I'll dance&mdash;dance for all the world; make
them wild with delight, till they throw themselves at
my feet. Missa, don't you understand, can't you
imagine ... oh, Missa, if you only knew.... But
you shall see, you shall see for yourself...."</p>

<p>She sank down on the sofa, sobbing violently.</p>

<p>Next day the Princess went down to the office.</p>

<p>Doffen was now completely himself again after the
Admiral's very effective "refusal."</p>

<p>He beamed like the sun when the Princess came in,
made her a deep bow and said: "At your service,
Miss&mdash;at your service, he, he!"</p>

<p>"Ah, so you're still alive, Eriksen?"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_306" id="Page_306" title="[Pg 306]"></a>
"Alive! The sight of you would have wakened
me from the dead!"</p>

<p>"Eriksen, will you do me a favour?"</p>

<p>"Will I? Anything, Miss, anything a man can do."</p>

<p>"I want a thousand pounds."</p>

<p>Eriksen slid down from his stool.</p>

<p>"<em>A thousand&mdash;pounds!</em> Heaven preserve us!
A thousand! I haven't more than seven-and-six on
me.</p>

<p>"But father has."</p>

<p>"The Admiral! Yes, of course, he has; and more.
But that's not mine. Da&mdash;" he checked himself,
recollecting it was not the Admiral to whom he was
speaking&mdash;"dear me, you wouldn't have me steal his
money?"</p>

<p>"Oh, all you need do is to let me have the key."</p>

<p>"No, no, my dear young lady, no<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span> It would never
do.</p>

<p>"But it's only drawing a little in advance&mdash;on my
inheritance, Eriksen, you know. That's all it is."</p>

<p>He stood reflecting quite a while.</p>

<p>"But&mdash;what on earth do you want all that money
for?"</p>

<p>She took his hand, and he trembled with emotion.</p>

<p>"Eriksen, you're my friend, aren't you?"</p>

<p>"Heaven knows I am, Miss."</p>

<p>"Well, I'm going out into the wide world&mdash;to
dance."</p>

<p>"But, heavens alive&mdash;that makes it worse than
ever! The Admiral, he surely isn't going off dancing
as well?"</p>

<p>"No; Missa's coming with me. We leave to-morrow,
for Paris, Eriksen&mdash;London&mdash;New York&mdash;oh, ever so
far!"</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_307" id="Page_307" title="[Pg 307]"></a>
"But&mdash;but then, I shall never see you again."</p>

<p>"Indeed you shall, Eriksen; I'll send you tickets,
a whole box all to yourself, for my performance in
Paris. Just fancy, a box at the theatre all to yourself.
And you must pay me a thousand pounds for it
now."</p>

<p>"But the Admiral&mdash;the Admiral! I might just as
well give myself up and go to jail."</p>

<p>"Don't talk nonsense, Eriksen! Are you my
friend or are you not?"</p>

<p>The Princess got her thousand. And Eriksen duly
entered in his cash book:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"By
cash advanced to Miss Baby on account, as
per receipt number 325, £1000."</p></div>

<p>And the Princess on her part solemnly signed for the
money:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"Received cash in advance on account of expected
inheritance, £1000&mdash;one thousand pounds."</p></div>

<p>Doffen spent the evening helping Missa and the
Princess with their packing.</p>

<p>She promised to write and let him know how she
got on, and gave him a photo of herself at parting,
with the inscription: "To my true friend Doffen,
from Baby."</p>

<p>Doffen kept it near his heart.</p>

<p>Missa gave him her photo too, but that he quietly
put away in a back pocket.</p>

<p>Next morning he went down to the quay to see
them off. The Princess stood at the stern of the
ship, and waved to him. He was proud to think<a class="pagenum" name="Page_308" id="Page_308" title="[Pg 308]"></a>
that he was the only one she waved to, he was the
one to receive her farewell smile. And so the Princess
set out into the wide world.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>When the Admiral returned he found the following
letter awaiting him:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Father</span>,&mdash;Missa and I have decided to go
for a little trip to Paris, possibly also London, New
York, San Francisco, etc. We couldn't stand it any
longer, living in that old town of yours.</p>

<p>"I have drawn £1000 from Eriksen; I hope you
won't mind. I don't think we could really manage
with less.</p>

<p>"And, please, don't be nastier than usual to Eriksen
about it. I made him do it.</p>

<p class="b0">"So long, then, for the present, and take care of
yourself. You shall hear from us when we get there.&mdash;Your
own</p>

<p class="sig">"<span class="smcap">Baby</span>."</p>
</div>

<p>The Admiral grunted, got up and walked twice up
and down the room; then, muttering to himself,
"All right," he put the letter in the stove.</p>

<p>When the Admiral came down to the office, Doffen
was inclined to be somewhat shaky about the knees.
He pulled himself together, however, and, bearing in
mind the example of Napoleon, took the offensive at
once.</p>

<p>"Your daughter's gone away, Admiral!"</p>

<p>"Oh, go to&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Thanks. I don't think I will. I'm very comfortable
where I am."</p>

<p>"You're a fool."</p>

<p>"There's bigger fools about."</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_309" id="Page_309" title="[Pg 309]"></a>
"Why didn't you give her two thousand?"</p>

<p>"She'd have had five thousand."</p>

<p>"You've no idea what it costs to go travelling
about. A miserable stay-at-home like you."</p>

<p>At this Doffen grew angry in earnest, and slammed
down the lid of his desk, making the ink-stands fairly
dance.</p>

<p>"Well, of all the.... First of all I do my very
utmost to save you from being ruined by your illegitimate
offspring, then I manage to get her away in a
decent, respectable manner&mdash;you ought to be thoroughly
ashamed of yourself, if you ask me."</p>

<p>The Admiral looked round as if in search of something.</p>

<p>"What the devil have you done with that
Directory?" he said at last.</p>

<p>"Oho! Perhaps you'd like to be had up for another
attempted manslaughter, what?"</p>

<p>"Not a bit of it. But there's a reward for extermination
of rats and other mischievous beasts."</p>

<p>Here the discussion was interrupted by the entrance
of Ferryman Arne, who just looked in to ask if the
Admiral hadn't an old pair of breeches to give away,
as the seat was all out of the ones he was wearing.
The Admiral never refused. He went to a wardrobe,
routed out an old pair and gave them to Arne. The
latter examined them carefully, front and back, but
instead of saying thank you, he rudely declared that if
the Admiral wanted to give a poor man something to
wear, he might at least give him something that
wasn't falling to bits already.</p>

<p>This led to a most satisfactory battle-royal between
Arne and the Admiral, each trying to outdo the
other in lurid pigeon-English&mdash;a tongue which both of<a class="pagenum" name="Page_310" id="Page_310" title="[Pg 310]"></a>
them spoke fluently, Arne having been twelve years
in the China Seas.</p>

<p>And in the end the Admiral presented Arne with
two brand-new pairs of trousers and a pound in cash.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>The years passed by. Doffen stayed on in the office,
and became indispensable as time went on. He and
the Admiral made a pair. And whenever the conversation
languished towards the milk-and-watery, Ferryman
Arne would come and lend a hand.</p>

<p>The Princess roamed far and wide about the world.
She sent home newspapers, wherein they read that
she was performing at this or that great city, with
thousands of admirers at her tiny feet.</p>

<p>The Admiral read it all without the slightest token
of surprise, his only comment being: "All right,
that's her business." But when one day he received
a card bearing the inscription, "Countess Montfalca,"
surmounted by a coronet, he spat, and remarked to
Doffen:</p>

<p>"Well, after all, there's nothing surprising in that,
seeing her mother was a queen."</p>



<hr class="chapbreak" />
<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_311" id="Page_311" title="[Pg 311]"></a></p>
<h2><a name="XXI" id="XXI"></a>XXI<br />
DIRRIK</h2>


<p>The first time I met him was in 1867, on board
the schooner <i>Jenny</i> of Svelvik. The skipper
was an uncle of mine, and had taken me
along as odd boy for a summer cruise. And Ole
Didriksen, or Dirrik, as we called him, was first hand
on board.</p>

<p>We had taken in a cargo of pit props at Drammen,
and came down the fjord with a light northerly breeze.
A little way out the wind dropped altogether and the
<i>Jenny</i> lay drifting idly under a blazing sun.</p>

<p>Dirrik sounded the well, and declared that "the
old swine was leaking like a sieve."&mdash;"Nonsense!"
said the skipper. "Why, it's not more than three
years since her last overhaul."&mdash;"Maybe," said Dirrik,
"but she's powerful old."&mdash;"Old she may be&mdash;built
in '32&mdash;and I won't say but she's a trifle groggy about
the ribs; still, she's good for this bit of a run. And
summer weather and all."</p>

<p>Dirrik tried again. "Twenty-two inches," he said,
and looked inquiringly at the skipper. "Well, then,
you two men get the boat and go ashore for a few sacks
of caulking. There's plenty of ant-heaps up in the
wood there."</p>

<p>I was ready to burst with pride at finding myself
thus bracketed with Dirrik as a "man." I felt<a class="pagenum" name="Page_312" id="Page_312" title="[Pg 312]"></a>
myself a sailor already, and would not have bartered
the title for that of a Consul-General or Secretary of
State.</p>

<p>But the ant-heaps puzzled me. I could see no connection
between ant-heaps in a wood on shore and the
caulking of a leaky schooner. However, the first
duty of man at sea is to obey the orders of the supreme
power on board, <i>i.e.</i> the skipper; I curbed my curiosity,
then, for the time, and waited till we were a few
lengths away from the ship.</p>

<p>"Ant-heaps?" said Dirrik. "Why, 'tis the only
way to do with a leaky old tub like that. We dig 'em
up, d'ye see, pine needles and all, and drag a caseful
round her sides and down towards her keel, and she
sucks it all up in her seams, ants and needles and bits
of twigs, and the whole boiling, and that's the finest
caulking you can get!"</p>

<p>"Queer sort of caulking," I said.</p>

<p>"There's queerer things than that, lad, when a
vessel gets that old. It's the same like with human
beings. Some of them keeps sound and fit, and others
go rotten and mouldy and drink like hogs&mdash;but they
often live the longest for all that!"</p>

<p>"Do you think we'll ever get her across to England,
Dirrik?"</p>

<p>"Get her across? Why, what are you thinking
of? She's never had so much as a copper nail put
in these last thirty years, but she'll sail for all that.
Run all heeled over on one side, she will, and squirming
and screeching like a sea-serpent."</p>

<p>"She looks a bit cranky, anyway," I ventured.</p>

<p>"Warped and gaping. But still she'll do the trip
for all that."</p>

<p>We reached the shore, and Dirrik ordered me up<a class="pagenum" name="Page_313" id="Page_313" title="[Pg 313]"></a>
into the wood to fill the sacks, while he just ran up to
old Iversen, the pilot, for a moment.</p>

<p>I managed, not without some difficulty, to get the
boat loaded up, but it was a full half-hour before Dirrik
appeared.</p>

<p>At last he came strolling down, in company with a
pretty, buxom girl. "This is my young lady, an' her
name's Margine," said Dirrik, and pointing to me:
"Our new hand on board."&mdash;"Well, see you make a
nice trip," said Margine, "and come back again soon."</p>

<p>We caulked the <i>Jenny</i> as per instructions, and got
her taut as a bottle. "Ants, they trundles off sharp,
all they know, into the holes for safety," Dirrik explained,
"and take along the pine needles with 'em."</p>

<p>A fresh northerly wind took us well out into the
North Sea; then, a few days later, we lay becalmed
on the Dogger. An English fishing vessel sent a boat
aboard of us, trading fresh cod for a couple of bottles
of gin. Looking through the skylight I saw the old
man quietly making up the two bottles from one, by
the simple process of adding water to fill up. Rank
swindling it seemed to me, but he explained afterwards
that it was "our way of keeping down drunkenness,
my boy."</p>

<p>Eight days out from Drammen we put in to Seaham
Harbour. Half our cargo under deck was sodden
through, for we'd three feet of water in the hold all
the voyage, despite the patent caulking.</p>

<p>"Get it worse going home," said Dirrik. "We're
taking small coal to Drobak."</p>

<p>A few hours later we were getting in our cargo,
and soon the <i>Jenny</i> was loaded almost to the waterline
with smalls. We were just about to batten down
the hatches, when the skipper came along and told<a class="pagenum" name="Page_314" id="Page_314" title="[Pg 314]"></a>
us to wait, there was some Government stuff still to
come.</p>

<p>Down the quay trundled a heavy railway waggon
with two pieces of cannon, and before we had properly
time to wonder at the sight, the crane had taken hold,
the guns swung high in the air above the quay, and&mdash;one,
two, three&mdash;down they came into the main
hatchway all among the coals<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span></p>

<p>The schooner gave a sort of gasp as the crane let go,
and I thought for a moment we had broken her back.
She went several inches lower in the water, till the
chain bolts were awash, and the scuppers clear by no
more than a hair's breadth.</p>

<p>"This looks dangerous," I said to the skipper
cautiously, as he stood by the side.</p>

<p>"Why, what are you afraid of?"</p>

<p>"My life," was all I found to answer.</p>

<p>"And a lot to be afraid of in that!" said he, spitting
several yards out into the dock. "The guns are for
the fort at Oskarsborg, and it isn't every voyage I can
make fifteen pounds over a couple of fellows like
that."</p>

<p>We set off on our homeward voyage. Fortunately,
our protecting ants still kept to their places in the
leaks, or there would have been an end of us, and the
guns as well. The skipper was ill, and stuck to his
berth the whole way home. The night before we left
Seaham Harbour he had been to a crab-supper ashore
at the ship-chandler's, and what with stewed crabs
and ginger beer, the feast had "upset all his innards,"
as he put it.</p>

<p>We got into trouble rounding the Ness. Dirrik was
at the helm, and hailed the skipper to ask if we hadn't
better shorten sail.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_315" id="Page_315" title="[Pg 315]"></a>
"Nonsense!" said the old man. "It's summer
weather&mdash;keep all standing till she's clear." The
rigging sang, and the water was flung in showers over
the deck.</p>

<p>Dirrik ran her up into the wind as well as he could,
but was afraid of going about. Then: Crack! from
aloft, and crack! went the jibboom, and the flying
jib was off and away to leeward like a bat. The
skipper thrust up his head to take in the situation.</p>

<p>"Got her clear?" he asked. "Ay," says Dirrik
calmly, "clear enough, and all we've got to do now is
pull in the rags that's left, and paddle home as best
we can."</p>

<p>We were not a pretty sight when we made Drobak,
but the guns were landed safely, and that was the main
thing.</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>After that, I saw no more of Dirrik till I met him at
the Seaman's School in Piperviken in 1872.</p>

<p>There were three of us chums there: Rudolf, a
great big giant of eighteen, with fair curly hair and
smiling blue eyes. A good fellow was Rudolf, but
uncommonly powerful and always ready to get to
hand grips with anyone if they contradicted him.</p>

<p>Dirrik was fifteen years our senior at least. He had
been twenty years at sea already, and reckoned the
pair of us as "boys."</p>

<p>Dirrik had never got beyond the rank of "first-hand"
on board; it was always this miserable exam
that stood in his way. It was his highest ambition
to pass for mate, and then perhaps some day, with luck,
get a skipper's berth on some antiquated hulk along
the coast. But Dirrik was unfortunate. It counted
for nothing here that he had been several times round<a class="pagenum" name="Page_316" id="Page_316" title="[Pg 316]"></a>
the Horn, and received a silver knife from the Dutch
Government for going overboard in a gale, with a line
round his waist, to rescue three Dutchmen whose boat
was capsizing on the Dogger.</p>

<p>It was as much as he could do to write. I can still
see his rugged fingers, misshapen after years of rough
work at sea, gripping the penholder convulsively, as
if it had been a marlin-spike, and screwing his mouth
up, now to one side, now to the other, as he painfully
scrawled some entry in the "log."</p>

<p>"No need to look as if you were going to have a
tooth out," said Rudolf.</p>

<p>"I'd rather be lying out on Jan Mayen, shooting
seal in forty degrees of frost," said Dirrik, wiping his
brow.</p>

<p>"Devil take me, but I've half a mind to ship for
the Arctic myself next spring," said Rudolf.</p>

<p>"Got to get through with this first," I said.</p>

<p>"Ay, that's true," said Dirrik. "I've been up
four times now, and if I don't pass this time, my girl
won't wait any longer."</p>

<p>"Girl?" said Rudolf, with sudden interest.</p>

<p>"Margine Iversen's her name. We've been promised
now eleven years, and we <em>must</em> get married
this spring."</p>

<p>"Must, eh?" said I.</p>

<p>"He's been drawing in advance, what!" said
Rudolf, nudging me in the ribs.</p>

<p>"No more of that, lads," said Dirrik. "Womenfolk,
they've their own art of navigation, and I know
more about it than you've any call to do at your
age."</p>

<p>Just then Captain Wille, the principal of the school,
came up.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_317" id="Page_317" title="[Pg 317]"></a>
"Well, boys, how goes it?"</p>

<p>"Nicely, thank ye, Captain," answered Dirrik.
"But this 'ere blamed azimuth's a hard nut to crack."
Dirrik wiped the sweat from his brow with a blue-checked
handkerchief, and blew his nose with startling
violence. "You won't need a foghorn next time you
get on board," said Wille slyly.</p>

<p>"I say, though, Captain," said Rudolf, "we must
get old Dirrik through somehow. If he doesn't pass
this time, he'll be all adrift."</p>

<p>"Oho!" said the Captain, smiling all over his kindly
face. "And how's that?"</p>

<p>"Why, he's got to get married this spring, whether
he wants to or no."</p>

<p>"But he doesn't need that certificate to get
married."</p>

<p>"Ay, but I do, though, Captain," said Dirrik
earnestly. "For look you, navigation's badly needed
in these waters, and I'll sure come to grief without."</p>

<p>"Why, then, we must do what we can to get you
through," said Wille. And, seating himself beside
Dirrik, he began to explain the mysteries of sine, cosine
and tangent.</p>

<p>Dirrik sat with all his mental nerves strained taut
as the topmast shrouds in a storm. But the more
he listened to Wille's explanations the more incomprehensible
he seemed to find the noble art and science of navigation.</p>

<p>Presently Lt. Knap, the second master, came up,
and relieved Captain Wille at his task. Knap was
quite young in those days, an excitable fellow with a
sharp nose that gave him an air of self-importance.
But a splendid teacher, that he was. I can still hear
his voice, after vain attempts to ram something into<a class="pagenum" name="Page_318" id="Page_318" title="[Pg 318]"></a>
Dirrik's thick head: "But, damnation take it, man,
I don't believe you understand a word!"</p>

<p>No, Dirrik didn't understand a word, or, at any rate,
very little. One thing he did know, however, and that
was, if a man can take his meridian and mark out his
course on the chart, he can find his way anywhere on
the high seas.</p>

<p>"All this rigmarole about azimuths and amplitudes
and zeniths and moons and influence and tides, it's
just invented to plague the life out of honest, seafaring
folk." This heartfelt plaint of Dirrik's was
received with loud applause by the rest of the school.
Knap himself was as delighted as the rest, and sang
out over our heads: "Well, you can be sure I'd be
only too glad to leave out half of it, for it is all a man
can do to knock the rest of it into your heads."</p>

<p>Skipper Sartz, the third master, was a very old and
very slow, but a thorough-going old salt, who would
rather spin us a yarn at any time than bother about
navigation. We learned very little of that from him,
and he was generally regarded more as a comrade than
as a master. Rudolf supplied him with tobacco, free
of charge, to smoke in lesson-time, so there was no very
strict discipline during those hours. It was a trick
of Rudolf's, I remember, when Sartz was going through
lessons with him, to get hold of a ruler in his left hand
and draw it gently up and down the tutor's back.
Sartz would think it was me, and swing round suddenly
to let off a volley, ending up as a rule with a
recommendation to us generally to "give over these
etcetera etcetera tricks, and try and behave as young
gentlemen should."</p>

<p>At last the great day came when Dirrik was to go up
for his exam. K. G. Smith&mdash;he's an admiral now&mdash;was<a class="pagenum" name="Page_319" id="Page_319" title="[Pg 319]"></a>
the examiner. All of us, teachers included, were
fond of Dirrik, and would have been sorry to see him
fail again.</p>

<p>"Well, if I do get through this time," said Dirrik,
smiling all over his cheery face, "I'll stand treat all
round so the mess won't forget it for a week."</p>

<p>And really I think he would rather have faced a
four week's gale of the winter-north-Atlantic type, or
undertaken to assassinate the Emperor of China, than
march up to that examination table.</p>

<p>When the time came for the viva voce, Rudolf
and I could stand it no longer, we had to go in and
listen.</p>

<p>Never before or since have I seen such depths of
despair on any human face<span class="corr" title="added: .">.</span> Poor Dirrik mopped his
brow, and blew his nose, and we sat there, with serious
faces, feeling as if we were watching some dear departed
about to be lowered into the grave. I can safely say
I have never experienced a more solemn or trying
ceremony, not even when I, myself, was launched into
the state of holy matrimony before the altar.</p>

<p>The examiner sat bending over his work, entering
something or other&mdash;of particular importance, to
judge by the gravity of his looks.</p>

<p>We heard only the scratching of his pen on the paper.</p>

<p>Suddenly the silence was broken by a curious hissing
sound:</p>

<p>"Fssst&mdash;fssst!" and then, a moment later, from
the direction of the stove: "Sssss!"</p>

<p>It was Rudolf, who had squirted out a jet of tobacco
juice between his teeth over on to the stove in the
corner. Both the censors looked up, and the examiner
laid down his pen, flashing a fiery glance at Rudolf
from under his bushy brows.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_320" id="Page_320" title="[Pg 320]"></a>
"Pig!" said I, loud enough for the examiner to
hear, and was rewarded with a nod of approval.</p>

<p>This saved the situation, for if the old man had lost
his temper, it would have been all up with Dirrik's
exam.</p>

<p>Rudolf sat staring before him, entirely unconcerned.</p>

<p>At last they began. I can still see the examiner's
close-cropped hair and bushy eyebrows.</p>

<p>"Well, sir, can you tell me why a compass needle
invariably points towards the north?"</p>

<p>Dirrik had not understood a syllable, but felt he
ought in common decency to make pretence of thinking
it out for a bit, then he said:</p>

<p>"Beg pardon, Captain, but would you mind reading
out the question once again?"</p>

<p>A faint, almost imperceptible smile passed over the
Captain's face. The two old skippers, Olsen and
Wleugel, sat solemn as owls. Dirrik looked at the
examiner, then at the censor, and finally his glance
rested on us, with an expression of helpless resignation.
Rudolf nodded, and whispered "Cheer up," but Dirrik
neither saw nor heard.</p>

<p>"Compass," he murmured&mdash;"Compass needle&mdash;points&mdash;points...."</p>

<p>"Well," said the examiner, "<em>why</em> does it always
point to the north?"</p>

<p>And suddenly Dirrik's face lit up with a flash of
blessed inspiration:</p>

<p>"Why," he said cheerfully, "I suppose it's <em>just a
habit it's got</em>."</p>

<p>This time the examiner could not help laughing, and
the censors themselves seemed to thaw a little.</p>

<p>"H'm," said the examiner. "Yes ... well, and
suppose your compass needle happened to forget that<a class="pagenum" name="Page_321" id="Page_321" title="[Pg 321]"></a>
little habit it's got, as may happen, for instance, when
a vessel's loaded with iron&mdash;what would you do?"
Evidently he was in a good humour now.</p>

<p>"Sail by the sun and the watch," answered Dirrik
promptly. He was wide awake now, and drew out as
he spoke a big silver watch with a double case.</p>

<p>"I've sailed by this fellow here from the Newfoundland
Bank to Barrow in twelve days&mdash;it was with the
barque <i>Himalaya</i>, of Holmestrand."</p>

<p>"When was that?" asked the examiner.</p>

<p>"Seven years ago come Christmas it was."</p>

<p>Dirrik felt himself now master of the situation, and
ran on gaily, as one thoroughly at ease.</p>

<p>"It was blinding snow on the Banks that time.
The skipper was down with inflammation of the lungs,
and lay in his bunk delirious; we'd shipped some
heavy seas, and got four stanchions broken, and the
mate with four of his ribs bashed in, so he couldn't
move. And as for the crew, the less said about them
the better. We'd three niggers aboard and an Irishman,
and a couple of drunken gentlemen that'd never
been to sea before.</p>

<p>"Well, I had to sail and navigate and all. It was
a gale that went on day after day, till you'd think the
devil himself was hard at it with a bellows. But,
luckily, I'd this old watch of mine, and she's better
than any of your chronometers, for it's a sixteen-ruby
watch&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"Sixteen ruby&mdash;what's that?" asked the examiner
with interest.</p>

<p>Dirrik was proud as a peacock at the question;
fancy the examiner having to ask <em>him</em>!</p>

<p>"Why, it's this way. If you look inside an ordinary
watch, you'll find it's either five rubies or ten, but it's<a class="pagenum" name="Page_322" id="Page_322" title="[Pg 322]"></a>
very rarely you come across one with sixteen, and the
more rubies you've got in a watch, the better she goes.
Well, anyway, when the watch came round to noon
midday, I'd take the run and check off our course,
and that way I got to windward of her deviations and
magnetic variations and all the tricks there are to a
compass mostly. Then, of course, I'd to look to the
log, and mark off each day's run on the chart."</p>

<p>"Not so bad, not so bad," said the examiner, nodding
to the skippers.</p>

<p>"No, we did none so badly, and that's the truth.
For we got into Barrow at high water twelve days'
sail from the Banks. The Insurance Company wanted
to give me a gold watch, but I said, 'No, thank you,
if t'was all the same, I'd rather have it in cash,' so
they sent me what they call a testimonial, and £15.
And that was doing the handsome thing, for it was no
more than my duty after all. As for the crowd of
rapscallions we'd aboard, I gave them a pound a-piece
for themselves&mdash;the poor devils had done what they
could, though it was little enough."</p>

<p>"Have you ever taken the sun's altitude with a
sextant?"</p>

<p>"Surely," said Dirrik. "Meridian and latitude and
all the rest of it."</p>

<p>"Well ..." the examiner turned to the censors.
"I think that ought to be enough...?" And the
pair of them nodded approval.</p>

<p>"Right! That will do." Dirrik was dismissed with
a gesture, and, making his bow to each in turn, he
hurried out as fast as he could.</p>

<p>Next day one of the censors, Skipper Wleugel, came
down to the school and informed us that Dirrik had
passed, albeit with lowest possible marks.</p>

<p><a class="pagenum" name="Page_323" id="Page_323" title="[Pg 323]"></a>
Followed cheers for Dirrik, and cheers for the examiner,
and cheers for Knap&mdash;the last-named happening
to come out just at that moment, to see what all the
noise was about. That evening Dirrik invited Rudolf
and myself to the feast he had promised&mdash;great slabs of
steak and heaps of onions, with beer and snaps <i lang="la">ad lib.</i>,
and toddy and black cigars to top off with.</p>

<p>And going home that night we knocked the stuffing
out of five young students from the Academy, on the
grounds that they lacked the higher education Dirrik
now possessed. Altogether, it was a most successful
evening.</p>

<p>Dirrik went back home after that and married his
Margine. Three months later he was the father of
a bouncing boy, who was christened Sinus Knap
Didriksen, in pious memory of his father's studies
in the art of navigation and his teacher in the same.</p>


<hr class="w65" />

<p class="center smaller">PRINTED BY<br />
MORRISON AND GIBB LTD.<br />
EDINBURGH</p>

<hr class="w65" />




<h2>MODERN TROUBADOURS</h2>

<p class="center">The Record of<br />
THE CONCERTS AT THE FRONT</p>

<ul class="inline center">
<li class="italic">Crown 8vo</li>
<li class="italic">Cloth</li>
<li>5s. net</li></ul>

<p>The sub-title, "Concerts at the Front," is known to
almost every soldier who fought in the Great War.</p>

<p>The book is a record of the experiences of the actors
and musicians who during the years from 1915 to the
end of 1919 went to the War Zones. The record is
written by Lena Ashwell, known as an actress, who was
the Honorary Organiser of this effort through which
plays and music were taken to the armies by over six
hundred artists.</p>

<p>It is the first time since the very early days of civilisation
that Drama and Music have received official recognition,
with the result that the teaching and use of
plays and music was placed in Army Orders. In the
Final Report of the Adult Education Committee the
importance of the Drama is for the first time insisted
upon as a means of education.</p>

<p>The book is of interest, therefore, not only in giving
a somewhat new impression of the Great War, but as a
record of a new departure which in time may lead to
the position of the great arts in relation to the National
life being greatly changed.</p>

<p>The human interest of the book is great and the evidence
of the power of well-directed emotion is remarkable.</p>


<hr class="w45" />

<h2>THE GARLAND</h2>

<p class="center">By SIGRID UNDSET</p>

<ul class="center inline">
<li class="italic">Crown 8vo</li>
<li class="italic">Cloth</li>
<li>7s. 6d. net</li></ul>

<p>A masterly historical novel of fourteenth-century
Norway.</p>

<p>Kristin, the heroine, is the daughter of a lord of the
manor in Gudbrandsdal, she is singled out as a child
for a dangerous and romantic destiny. The story of
her early betrothal and of the wild love romance that
breaks it is told in "The Garland" in scenes of intense
dramatic effect, and the characters of the heroine, her
lovers, and her parents are developed with extraordinary
power. The mediæval setting is marked by a picturesque
realism, and the atmosphere of the time, with its strong
passions and superstitious terrors, is reproduced in a most
convincing way.</p>


<hr class="w45" />

<h2>THE LONG JOURNEY<br />
FIRE AND ICE</h2>

<p class="center">By JOHANNES V. JENSEN<br />
<span class="smaller">Translated by A. G. CHATER</span></p>

<ul class="center inline">
<li class="italic">Crown 8vo</li>
<li class="italic">Cloth</li>
<li>7s. 6d. net</li></ul>

<p>Johannes V. Jensen, whose work is new to English
readers, was born in 1873 in Himmerland, the district of
North Jutland which is richest in memories of the past.
He has been recognised for the last thirty years as an
independent force in Danish literature, where his production
marks a revolt against the French influences
prevalent at the close of the nineteenth century and a
return to old Scandinavian motives, with a strong leaning
towards the English school of imaginative writing. His
work is full of a primitive force, which is combined with
a power of lyrical description probably unsurpassed at
the present day.</p>

<p>In "The Long Journey" Johannes V. Jensen tells the
story of the white man, in a series of romances or "myths,"
of which the first are now presented in English.</p>

<p>"Fire and Ice" is a story of adventure&mdash;the greatest
adventure in the history of mankind&mdash;telling with vivid
realism and much underlying humour how the white man
became white and acquired the powers of self-reliance
which made him master of the world.</p>

<p>The story opens in the lost Paradise, where man steals
fire from Heaven. Armed with it he challenges Nature
and goes through the Ice Age, which sets the boundary
between the white man and the savage. When the thaw
comes there are two races on earth, and their first encounter
brings the clash of drama.</p>


<hr class="w45" />

<h2>DOWNSTREAM</h2>

<p class="center">By SIGFRID SIWERTZ<br />
<span class="smaller">Translated by E. CLASSEN</span></p>

<ul class="center inline">
<li class="italic">Crown 8vo</li>
<li class="italic">Cloth</li>
<li>7s. 6d. net</li></ul>

<p>This is the story of a family of brothers and sisters,
the Selambs, neglected in childhood and left to grow
up under chance influences. "Selambshof," the decayed
family home, is in the neighbourhood of Stockholm, and
the growth of the capital gives it an enhanced value
which is not without its influence on the destinies of
the family. The author has traced the adventures and
development of these highly individualised Selambs in
a way that makes this one of the most absorbing novels
produced in recent years.</p>

<p>Sigfrid Siwertz has rapidly come to the front among
Swedish novelists, and this, his most important work to
date, has firmly established him in the first rank.</p>


<div class="trnote">
<h2><a name="trcorrections" id="trcorrections"></a>Transcriber's corrections</h2>
<ul>
<li><a href="#TC_1">p. 74</a>: what the critics say. If[It] it's good, why, I give in; if</li>
<li><a href="#TC_2">p. 90</a>: like that; no, we must get our[out] old friend Bianca to</li>
<li><a href="#TC_3">p. 122</a>: better. Now, where's your[you] bill?"</li>
<li><a href="#TC_4">p. 136</a>: "Mrs. Emilie Rantzau and daughter[daugher]: Knut G. Holm</li>
<li><a href="#TC_5">p. 156</a>: on at the dance. Thor Smith nudged his friend surreptitiously[surreptitously]</li>
<li><a href="#TC_6">p. 191</a>: From early morning the committee was[were] abroad,</li>
<li><a href="#TC_7">p. 199</a>: Lacked neither meat nor[not] mirth,</li>
<li><a href="#TC_8">p. 260</a>: this respect, counting as yet[get] not a single steamer. It</li>
</ul>
</div>








<pre>





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