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--the idea was preposterous; it certainly could never have
entered his head, far less Vindt's. Still, it was certainly queer,
the way the boy stuck to the office and never stirred out....
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.
"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."
And Holm went into the inner office. By a rare chance, William had
gone out, and he found Betty alone.
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.
And that fair curling hair of hers went splendidly with the dark
eyebrows.
"You're working too hard; you mustn't overdo it, you know," he said
kindly.
"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."
"So you like old-fashioned things? Perhaps you would include me in
the category of old?"
"You, Mr. Holm! Of course not. Why, you're just in the prime of
life."
"Well, yes, I hope so. But what would you say, now, if a man--in the
prime of life--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."
Betty got down from her stool and stood looking at him in
astonishment.
"Really, Mr. Holm, I don't know what you mean!"
"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."
He placed himself opposite her and endeavoured to meet her eyes, but
she took refuge behind the ledger, and would not look up.
"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."
"Oh, please, Mr. Holm, please don't say any more. I--I must go home
now, mama will be waiting...." She broke off, and began hurriedly and
nervously putting on her things.
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.
Holm was annoyed.
"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 our old friend Bianca to lend a hand.
She's sensible enough to know a good son-in-law when she sees one."
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.
Mrs. Rantzau grew very serious when Holm enlightened her as to his
feelings for Betty. She pointed out at once the great difference in
their ages, and was very doubtful on that head. Nevertheless, she
undertook to speak to Betty herself.
She could not but admit that the offer was a tempting one and that
Betty's future would be assured--which to a woman in her position was
important enough. She would in any case give the matter her most
earnest consideration.
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.
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!
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.
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.
When they entered the drawing-room Holm locked the door, and motioned
William to a seat on the sofa beside him.
"But what on earth are you making all this mystery about, old man?"
said William.
"Old, did you say? You might be thankful, my boy, if you were as
youthful as I am."
"Why, what's the matter now?"
"I want to speak to you seriously, my son. For seventeen years now I
have been a lone, lone man...."
"Seventeen years?"
"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."
"Very natural, I'm sure."
"And I have therefore resolved to marry again."
"Have you, though? Good idea."
"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."
"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."
"Perhaps not--though you might have been worse off. However, now that
I am about to bring home a bride for the third----"
"And last time?"
"--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."
"I'm sure, father, you could not have made a better choice. Mrs.
Rantzau is, I believe, an excellent woman."
"Mrs. Rantzau! What on earth are you talking about?"
"Why, isn't it her you mean? Both Marie and I have noticed you've
been visiting her pretty often of late."
"Me--to marry a woman that age!"
"But she must be much younger than you!"
"Oh--that's different. Men can marry at any age and keep on
marrying."
"But who is the favoured one, then?"
"The favoured one, as you are pleased to call her, is Miss Betty----"
"Betty! _You_ marry Betty Rantzau?"
"Yes; don't you think it's a good idea? Suit us all round."
"Oh, it's ridiculous, impossible!"
"And why, may I ask?"
"Well, to begin with, Betty won't have you, and, besides----"
"Well...?"
"Betty belongs to me!"
Holm jumped up from the sofa, and stood facing William, who sat
quietly and calmly as ever.
"William--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...."
"Betty's the only woman I've ever cared for, father; from the first
time I set eyes on her I've...."
"A passing fancy, nothing more. A few weeks' holiday in Paris, and
you'll have forgotten all about it."
"There you're mistaken. I'm serious for once."
"And I'm serious too. And this time I'm not going to give in."
Holm turned sharply on his heel and went down to 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.
He strode up and down in great agitation. Knut Holm was thoroughly
angry now.
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--it would be impossible to
remain in the place.
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.
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.
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.
Up in the loft he found Bramsen, lying at his ease on a couple of
coffee-bags, studying a telegram.
"Hullo, Bramsen, what are you up to now?"
Bramsen half rose, and sat holding one hand to his forehead, waving
the telegram in the other.
"Well, if this isn't the queerest...."
"There's a deal of queer things about just lately. What's happening
now?"
"Why, you know I told you how I'd got all that worldly out of
Andrine, when she joined the Salvation Army?"
"Well, has she come to her senses again?"
"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."
"Aha, that looks like coming round."
"Well, you can guess I'd been expecting something of the sort, and so
I started in a little speculation while there was time."
"Not trying steamboats, I hope?"
"No, no. But I got wind of a good thing in another way altogether.
You know Johnsen I told you about?"
"Bramsen, don't tell me you've got mixed up in any sort of deal with
that drunken old fool?"
"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--_Erik_ 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 _Erik_ 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.--JOHNSEN.' Drunk in
dock, if you ask me--and him a teetot'lar and all!"
Holm took the telegram and read it over, but could make nothing of
it. "Drink dock yesterday" was all it said.
"Well, it's something to do with drink, anyway, by the look of
it--whether he means he got drunk in 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."
"Holm--you don't think he's gone off the rails again--honestly?"
Bramsen jumped up from his couch and stood aghast.
"Well, whatever did you want to be such a fool for, Bramsen? Managing
owner indeed--why, you've no more idea of managing than those
coffee-bags."
"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."
"Monkey yourself, if you ask me."
"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."
Bramsen was thoroughly offended now, and Holm found it difficult to
bring him round.
"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."
"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, Knut, but, flay and fester me, you must
swear you won't say a word to a soul."
"You know I can keep a secret, Bramsen."
"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."
"But have you given your consent?"
"Consent?" Bramsen stared in astonishment. "Consent? They never asked
for it, and I never asked myself--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?"
"No, but...."
"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...."
"But what's all this got to do with the boat?"
"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 in a vessel, put in old Johnsen as skipper at first,
and let the youngster take it on after.... See?"
"Oho! Women again, Bramsen, what?"
"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--gets you in the
throat now and again, but it gives you an appetite."
Bramsen had by now almost forgotten the telegram; he grew serious
again, however, as it caught his eye.
"'Drink dock yesterday--drink dock....'" he scratched his whiskers
and muttered curses at Johnsen and his telegram.
Holm sat looking at the thing.
"Bramsen," he said at last, "I've got it. Don't you see what it is?"
"No, I'm blest if I do."
"It's come through a bit wrong, that's all, mutilated in transit.
'_Erik_' it ought to be. '_Erik_ dock yesterday'--that is--he's got
there all right and docked yesterday."
Bramsen turned a somersault over the coffee-bags, slapped his thighs
and stood doubled up with laughter.
"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--ha, ha, ha!"
* * * * *
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.
Betty was crying, with her arms round her mother's neck, while her
mother pressed the girl closely to her, patting her hair tenderly.
"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."
"Oh, mother, and we were so happy together, and everything going so
well."
"We'll manage somehow, Betty dear; you've never known me give up yet,
have you, child?"
"No--but it's so cruel to think of you having to work and slave all
the time--and we might have lived in luxury the two of us--but I
can't, mother, I can't."
"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."
"Yes, I know--but it was so nice there, and I was just getting into
things so well. And--and--Mr. William was so nice and kind."
She fell to crying once more, but Mrs. Rantzau sat up sharply.
"William--was he nice to you, you say?"
"Yes, so kind and friendly, and he told me about things---- Oh, he's
a good man, I know."
"Told you about what things, Betty?"
"About his life, and how he'd wanted to be an artist, and was
studying for it and all that--but then he thought it was his duty to
help his old father with the business."
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.
Emilie Rantzau lay awake till late that night thinking over what
Betty had said. It was difficult to get a clear idea of the
situation, for the various scenes seemed contradictory. Had William
honourable intentions regarding Betty?--that was the main thing.
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.
VIII
MALLA TRAP
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
She was now about sixty, tall, thin, and with greyish hair that hung
in two heavy curls on either side of her forehead.
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.
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.
She had a splendid constitution and physique--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.
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.
A slight cold was the sole effect of her bath, which otherwise seemed
to have been merely refreshing!
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.
Her idea of charity, and manner of exercising the same, were no less
eccentric.
One Christmas, for instance, she had presented each 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.
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.
"I assure you, my dear Pastor, you'll feel as lively as a fish if you
do!"
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--that was going too far. Malla Trap urged them to try it--it was
delicious, she declared--but without avail.
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 figure came like a breath of the fresh north-west wind,
sweeping clouds from the sky.
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.
The scene would probably have been something like this:
"Now, my dear man, it's no good giving up like that."
"But what am I to do?--there's nowhere to turn--only the workhouse.
That's what it'll be--the workhouse."
"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--it
_must_!"
He looked up a little--paper--business--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--she had
made a sunny thought to grow in a tortured and despairing mind.
Her best friend was Miss Strom, a woman of considerable wit and
education, and daughter of the late governor of the province.
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.
"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."
"Not at all," said Beate Strom earnestly; "one must consider what
people say."
"Nonsense, Beate! You're far too well brought up, my dear, that's the
trouble."
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.
But Malla Trap simply pleaded that they were her favourite
dishes--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!
As already mentioned, Miss Trap was a regular visitor at Holm's, and
had her own place at table.
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.
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.
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.
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.
William, of course, declared emphatically that it was true and
enduring love, and that he would be blighted for ever if he could not
make Betty his wife.
At last Malla Trap believed him, and promised to do what she could to
put matters right.