hope you may be happy here, and feel yourself in every sense at home
now you have come back--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."
"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."
"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."
"Really--oh, but surely----"
"I'll tell you all about it, if I may?"
"Yes, do."
"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."
"Like yourself, you mean?"
"Exactly. I've done a good deal in that line--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.
"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."
"But really, Mr. Holm, she _has_ talent, you know."
"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--that's what
I want. And as for the boy, you can help me to cure him too, if you
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."
"Really, Mr. Holm, that was a pretty compliment, I must say."
"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."
"Holm, for Heaven's sake, _never_, never let that name pass your lips
again. Promise me!" she said, with a glance of earnest entreaty.
"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."
"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."
"Thanks, thanks. And the boy--how are we to manage about him?"
"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."
"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!"
VI
"REBECCA AND THE CAMELS"
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.
"Father, we want to read you something. It's from an article in the
paper."
"Right you are, my boy--go ahead!"
"It's about that picture of mine, the big one of 'Rebecca and the
Camels,' that's on exhibition now in Christiania."
"What's she doing with the camels?"
"Giving them water."
"Oh, I see. Watering the camelias; yes, go on."
"Father, I don't think it's nice of you always to be making fun of
William," put in Marie.
"Making fun? Not a bit of it, my dear offspring, I'm highly
interested."
"Don't you want to hear what the papers say about my work?"
"That's just what I'm waiting for, if you'll only begin."
William opened the paper and read out solemnly:
"This large canvas, 'Rebecca and the Camels,' is the work of that
promising young painter, William Holm.
"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.
"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.
"With the further study which, we understand, he is shortly about
to undertake in Paris, William Holm should have a great future
before him."
"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."
"It was written by a critic of ability and understanding."
"It would be, of course."
"And after that you surely can't have any objection to our going to
Paris?"
"We should like to go at once, papa," added Marie.
"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. If it's good, why, I give in; if it's slated, then you agree to
start work in the office here with me forthwith, and leave your
paint-pots till your leisure, to amuse yourself and your friends
apart from your work with me.
"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?"
"Yes, that's fair enough," said William. "I'm not afraid of what the
Copenhagen critics will say."
"And I know Mrs. Rantzau will tell me I ought to go on."
As soon as they had gone, Holm stole off quietly to Mrs. Rantzau and
told her all that had passed.
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.
"Don't you think it would be better to wait until we have heard the
decision of the authorities," suggested Holm.
"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?"
"H'm, I think I'd rather have it settled first, if it's all the same
to you."
A week passed, however, and every day Marie had to try over again
with Mrs. Rantzau; strange how particular she was now!
William had sent off his picture to Copenhagen, and was all anxiety
to learn what had been said about it. The dealer had been instructed
to send him press cuttings as soon as they appeared.
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.
On the table lay an open letter from Mrs. Rantzau, as follows:
"MY DEAR MISS HOLM,--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.
"I regret that as a result I can only advise you most seriously
to relinquish the idea.
"You have certainly a pleasing voice, but its compass is only
slight, and would never be sufficiently powerful for concert
work.
"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.--Sincerely yours,
"EMILIE RANTZAU."
Holm read the letter, and went over to Marie.
"Don't cry, my child; you shall go to Paris all right, but we'll go
together this time, for a holiday."
"Oh, I'm so miserable--hu, hu!"
"It won't be for long." And Holm sat comforting her as well as he
could, until at last she went out of her own accord to lay the table
for supper--a thing she had not troubled to do for a long time.
"Aha," thought Holm, "things are looking up a bit."
It was not a particularly cheerful meal, however, and William went
off to his own room as soon as it was over.
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.
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:
"NORWEGIAN CAMELS"
"A decidedly humorous work of art has been on exhibition here the
last few days.
"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.'
"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.
"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 name by these
monstrosities; the dromedaries, too, albeit less directly
concerned, are anxious to disclaim any relationship.
"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.
"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."
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.
An hour later he went downstairs to the office, and took his seat at
the desk, opposite Miss Rantzau.
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.
"Why, what's the matter, Bramsen?"
"Oh, Lord, everything's going contrariwise, it seems."
"Why, what's happened?"
"Well, there's Andrine gone and joined the Salvation Army, with a hat
like _that_!" And he made a descriptive motion of his hands to his
ears.
"The devil she has!"
"Ay, you may well say that. Downhill's better 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."
"Amande? Poor child! What's wrong with her?"
"Doctor says she's got tulips or something in her ears."
"Polypi, I suppose you mean."
"Well, something of that sort, anyway."
"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?"
"Ay, that it is. Never have thought it--as the old maid said when
a young man kissed her on the stairs. I'm glad to hear it,
though--they've been pretty average troublesome up to now."
"I should say so. Well, let's hope Andrine will come to her senses as
well, after a bit."
"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.
"What do you say to that, L130, 16s. 2d. She must have been a wonder
to put by all that."
"You're right there, Bramsen; she must be a born manager."
"And now I'm going to try a steamboat. There's one I know of that's
for sale, the _Patriot_, and I believe it's a bargain."
"Don't you go doing anything foolish now, Bramsen; you're
comfortably off as you are, and if you want more wages, why, you've
only got to say so."
"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."
"Well, you could take a run down the fjord on one of the coasting
steamers any time you like."
"Ah, but it's not the same. Look at that fellow Johnsen now, with the
_Rap_ 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."
"And you want to go and do likewise? You're a long sight better off
where you are, if you ask me, Bramsen."
"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--and where'd I be then?"
"H'm. I hope you'll have her back again the same as ever, before
long."
"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 _Baron Holberg_. You must know Olsen, I'm sure--fellow with a red
beard--Baron Olsen, they call him. He offered me a fourth share in
the brig for L65."
Bramsen livened up after a while, and the two friends were soon
chatting away in their usual cheery fashion.
"What would you say to me marrying again, Bramsen?"
Bramsen sat without moving for a while, then took out his clasp-knife
and began whittling at a splinter of wood.
"Well, what do you say?
"I'd say it's a risky thing to do."
"It generally is, I suppose, but it's always turned out all right up
to now."
"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--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."
"Well, women are queer cattle, you're right in that."
"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...."
"And some that stop altogether."
"Why, yes, till they get a new mainspring and start going again. If
not, why, they're done for, that's all."
"You've a neat way of putting it, Bramsen. Like a parable."
"And then they're mostly cased up smart and fine, and we wear them
mostly near our hearts----"
"Bravo! Right again!"
"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?"
"No, indeed, my dear fellow, it's not."
"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."
"You're not far out either. I like them new myself."
"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--ay, and others too for that matter, simple folk like Garner,
for instance--that I could talk Chinese through having picked up the
lingo the five years I was on board the _Albatros_ in the China
Seas?"
And, by way of illustration, Bramsen showed his eyes round sideways,
screwed up his mouth and uttered the following syllables:
"Hi--ho--fang--chu--ka--me--lang--poh--poh--ku!"
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.
"Well, the day before yesterday, while I was stacking fish up in the
loft, in comes an old gentleman, sort of learned and reverend looking
he was.
"'Mr. Paal Abrahamsen?' says he, and looks at me solemn-like through
a pair of blue spectacles.
"'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.
"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:
"'Surname and Christian names, married or single, and so on, that's
what you'll be wanting,' says I.
"'No, my friend,' says he, 'I only called to inquire--you speak
Chinese, I understand. Several years in the country, were you not?'
"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.
"'H'm,' says I, 'I know a little, but it's nothing much. Not worth
counting, really.'
"'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'--well, it was Professor something or other--Birk or Cork or Stork
or something--'from Christiania,' he said.
"'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.
"'Mr. Abrahamsen,' says he, 'if you'd kindly repeat a sentence,
anything you like, in Chinese.' And he takes up a grand gold
pencil-case and starts to write in the book.
"'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--hoh--puh--fih--chu--lang--ra--
ta--ta--poh--uh--ee--lee--shung--la--uh--uh--uh!' And down it all
goes in his book like winking.
"'Very good, very good. And now, what does it mean?'
"'What it means----' Well, that was a nasty one, as you can imagine.
Funny thing, but I'd never thought about that. 'Mean--why--well, it
means--H'm. Why, it's as much as to say--well, it's a sort of--sort
of national anthem, as you might call it. _Sons of China's Ancient
Land._ Not quite that exactly, but something like it, you understand.
Chinese is--well, it's different, you know.'
"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.
"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:
"'Wait a bit, it's your turn now. Let's see if you can manage it
first.'
"'Well, my good sir, to begin with, _Sons of Norway's Ancient Land_
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
_sons_ is "Yung-li," not "Me-hoh," as you said.'
"'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.'
"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.
"'You're very welcome, I'm sure,' says I.
'Ah--dec--oh--oh--shung--la--la--poh!'
"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."
VII
HOLM & SON
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 _tete-a-tete_. 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.
"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."
"Yes, father," said William respectfully, "but I want to get
thoroughly into the bookkeeping first, and Miss Rantzau is helping
me."
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:
"Knut, my boy, you've been a considerable fool. You should have sent
the youngsters off to Paris as they wanted, then you could have
fixed things up here in your own fashion while they were away."
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.
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.
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.
"Beg pardon, Holm," he began, "would you mind asking if the senior
partner's disengaged for a moment?"
"Oh, go to the devil!"
"Well, I was thinking of taking a holiday somewhere--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."
"It's a good thing, if you ask me, to see young people doing
something nowadays."
"Ah, my boy, it all depends _what_ they're doing! Apropos, the other
young person in there, is she to be taken into partnership as well?
Deuced pretty girl that, Holm."
"Vindt, you're incorrigible. Come upstairs and have a glass of wine.
I've got some fine '52 Madeira...."
"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."
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?"
The banker swallowed the pill without wincing, and merely observed:
"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?"
"Can't afford it, I'm afraid. Bills for repairing wrecks, you know,
are apt to be a bit heavy when they come in."
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--it was rarely the banker showed
so much irritation.