excellent husband, a thorough----" he checked himself, hesitating
between compliment and sincerity.
"You know my past, Holm, and you will not wonder at my seeking a
safe haven after my troubled life--and I hope and believe he will
never have reason to regret."
"Indeed not, my dear lady; he's a very lucky man if you ask me. And
at his age, too----"
"I don't think he's any older than yourself, Holm," put in Mrs.
Rantzau, with a smile.
"Well, perhaps not--but he looks it, anyway."
"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."
"Aha, I thought as much. So you're in the plot as well, of course?"
"The plot?"
"Yes, it _is_ 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!"
"Well--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."
"And by doing so I become a sort of relation of--of Banker
Hermansen?"
"Well, is there anything wrong in that?"
"Hermansen and I as a sort of--well, what should we be? Can't be each
other's half-uncles--twins-in-law. Bless my soul, it's really almost
comical!"
"It's a serious matter to me, Holm. My child's future...." There were
tears in her eyes as she spoke.
"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."
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."
"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."
He walked across to the window and stood for some time without
speaking.
"Have you seen William to-day?" he said at last.
"Yes, he came round to see us, and walked back here with me. I expect
he's in the office now."
"Well, we'd better have him up, and get the matter settled out of
hand at once."
As he was moving towards the door, Bramsen looked in.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Holm," he began, then stopped and stood looking from
one to the other. "Er--h'm. Hopes I don't intrude?"
"Not a bit, Bramsen; come in! What's the trouble?"
"Why, 'twas just a bit of a private matter, if...."
Holm went over to him. "Anything wrong, Bramsen?"
"Andrine's come home and chucked the Salvationing business for good
and all."
"Why, so much the better."
"Ay, but there's the book...."
"What book?"
"The savings-bank book--she wants it back. And now there's nothing in
it, for when I bought the ship, d'you see...."
"We must talk it over later, Bramsen. I'm busy just now."
"Busy, eh? I see," said Bramsen, looking sideways at Mrs. Rantzau.
And, lowering his voice, he whispered slyly, "_That's a fine one
you've got there!_" and retired.
"Bramsen," Holm called after him, "tell William to come up, will you?
You'll find him in the office."
William came in directly after, went up to his father and took his
hand.
"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----"
"Eh? Try you? Yes--yes, of course.... Yes, my son; it was--er--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--checks abnormal fluctuations of
the market, you know."
"Father, I'm the happiest man on earth."
"Your respected mother-in-law, I've had the pleasure of meeting her
before...."
"Have you, though?"
"Yes--abroad. It's many years ago now," put in Mrs. Rantzau hastily.
"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!"
"Thank you so much, Mr. Holm; I hope I can. But I must just speak to
Alfred first."
"Alfred?"
"My fiance, Banker Hermansen."
"Oh yes, yes, of course. I really didn't know he had a Christian
name--he's always been just Banker Hermansen."
* * * * *
Holm came down into the shop, muttering to himself,
"Alfred--Alfred...." until he had to go into his inner office where
he could laugh unobserved. Of all the extraordinary things....
He thought of Bianca in the old days, and called to mind the
"Carnival of Venice," the little supper at Pfortes--and in the midst
of it all loomed the stiff, upright figure and solemn, clean-shaven
face of Banker Hermansen.
He had never dreamed of such a marvel, still less expected to meet
with it as a reality.
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--a
private matter. "And if you would not mind coming in by the side
door, you will find me alone in the office."
Holm had once before been invited to call upon the banker
"privately"--in 1879, when he had been called upon to show his
balance-sheet.
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....
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.
The banker did not seem to notice his entry at first, but sat intent
upon some papers at the big oak table.
"Good afternoon, Banker!"
"Ah, there you are! Forgive my troubling you to come round, Mr. Holm,
but...."
He broke off, uncertain how to proceed. The two ancient antagonists
exchanged glances.
For the first time in his life Holm felt himself master of the
situation towards Hermansen; this time it was the banker himself who
had to show his balance.
"Well, Mr. Holm, I dare say you have heard...."
But Holm ignored the opening. "No, no, my friend," he thought to
himself, "you can play your miserable hand alone, _I'm_ not going to
help you out."
"I have committed the indiscretion of--er--becoming engaged," said
the banker, with a faint smile.
"Hearty congratulations, my dear Banker," said Holm, offering his
hand.
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.
"Mrs. Rantzau, my fiancee, has informed me that we shall be--er--in a
sort of way related." He smiled invitingly, and thought: he must come
round after that.
Holm was a little in doubt how best to proceed now; he was not averse
to prolonging the other's awkwardness.
"Highly honoured, I'm sure. Yes, my son has been so fortunate as to
gain the hand of--er--your fiancee's daughter. A charming young lady,
charming. Takes after her mother." He checked himself; he had said
more than he wished.
A long pause.
The banker shifted some books on the table, then suddenly he slipped
up to Holm, laid one hand on his shoulder and said:
"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 now to be glad of
peace and amity, and our new relations ought to bring us closer
together--what do you say?"
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.
"It shan't be my fault if we don't, Hermansen. I'm willing to let
bygones be bygones. Time cures all sorrows--patches up a doubtful
balance-sheet, as you might say----"
"My dear Holm, pray don't mention it."
"Well, well, it might have been worse--as the auditor said. You're in
luck's way, though, Hermansen. I've had the honour of some slight
acquaintance with your fiancee in former days."
"No, really! Where did you meet her?"
"Oh, it was some years ago--we met at the house of some mutual
friends--abroad. A noble woman, Hermansen, a woman of splendid
character."
"One might almost think you'd been my competitor there, Holm, what?"
said the banker, with a laugh.
"Why, I won't say but I might have been inclined.... But the
lady--er--showed better taste, worse luck," answered Holm, with a
bow.
"Thanks for the compliment! You're quite a diplomatist, Holm--I
haven't seen you in that role before."
Holm put his head on one side and looked at the banker with a
quizzical expression.
"Haven't you--though? Not in the little matter of the Spanish
frigate?"
"Ah, yes--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--but it's all in the family now."
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.
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.
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.
"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.
"I've just come from my so-called brother-in-law, Hermansen, that's
all, my boy."
"Oho! Distinguished brother-in-law, what?"
"Well, I'm quite satisfied with him myself. And--er--h'm--he'll be my
boy's father-in-law too, you know, in a way."
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:
"Mrs. Emilie Rantzau and daughter: 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!"
"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."
And Holm went home to make arrangements for a thoroughly festive
evening.
X
THE SHIP COMES HOME
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. 6-1/2d."--being all that
remained from the interregnum period of Bramsen's term of office as
Chancellor of the Exchequer.
Andrine opened the book and stood aghast.
"But--but, sakes alive, Paal, where's all the money gone?"
"The money--why--the money--h'm...." And in his embarrassment he
looked appealingly at Amanda, who nudged him encouragingly in the
ribs and whispered:
"Go on--it's all right. Tell her straight out."
"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...."
"Oh, leave out all that and say what you've done with the money."
Andrine was quivering with impatience.
"Well--I--I bought the ship."
"Ship--what ship?"
"The _Erik_, 216 ton register, B. I. to 1901, 12-1/2 ft. with full
cargo...."
"Overhauled last year," prompted Amanda.
"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."
Andrine held her apron to her eyes, weeping "buckets and hosepipes"
as Bramsen later put it to Holm.
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.
"Oh--oh--oh, how could I be such a fool!" sobbed Andrine.
"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."
"What--whatever did you want to go buying ships for, Bramsen?"
"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.
"Carljohan who?" Andrine stopped crying and looked up sharply.
"Why, Johnsen's son."
"What's he got to do with it?"
"Why, he's a deal to do with it, now he and Amanda's fixed things up
together."
"Amanda! That child! And you let them!" Andrine drew herself up
impressively, and Bramsen cowered.
"Don't you forget, Andrine," he said, "we weren't 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--a cat's not in it. And wrestling too--mark my words, he'll
make his way in the world, and I'm sorry for the man that comes
athwart him."
"Oh yes, you can talk! But seems to me you've been doing your best to
ruin us all while I've been away."
"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.
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.
"It's been pretty rough these last few days--we'll soon see what
she's good for," said Bramsen, thinking of the ship.
"If only they come home safe and sound," sighed Amanda, thinking of
Carljohan.
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.
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.
Amanda had always chosen their place in church 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.
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.
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.
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!
The sermon now--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.
And up in the rigging was Carljohan shortening sail--oh, how the
vessel pitched and rolled, till the yards almost touched the water.
If he should lose his hold--if he should be swept away--Amanda gasped
at the thought, and clutched her father's hand.
"What is it, Amanda? Are you ill?" whispered Bramsen anxiously.
"No, no; only keep still. I'll be all right directly."
The organ pealed and the sound of the hymn filled the church.
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.
She could hear Mother Christiansen's cracked voice just behind, and
tried in vain to join in herself.
Already she glanced out of the big window beyond the choir. On the
farther side of the harbour lay a vessel at anchor.
But--it had not been there before! Surely ... yes, it was a vessel
just in--its flag still flying!--Heavens, it was the _Erik_!
She stood up to make sure. Yes, it was she. It was she! There was the
big white figure-head--there was no mistake.
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.
XI
THE CONCERT
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."
The fine hall was splendidly illuminated. The great windows fronting
the street shed a glow of light over the crowd of staring idlers
outside.
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.
"Well, children, going to the concert?"
"No--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.
"Well, come along, and I'll get you in."
The girls followed delightedly, and Malla Trap took tickets for them
all.
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.
"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.
"Why, surely--is it you, Amanda? How are you getting on?"
"Splendid, thanks. This is Carljohan; he's just come back from a
voyage."
"And your father and mother? Give them my love, won't you?"
"Thanks, I will. Oh, but Hans"--she came close to him and
whispered--"Dear Hans, _do_ play 'The Little Fisher-Maid' to please
me--will you?"
"I'm not sure if I can, Amanda."
"Oh, of course you can. Why, you played it hundreds of times at old
Clemmetsen's."
"Well, I'll see.... But I must go in now. Good-bye."
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.
Suddenly the buzz of talk was hushed, and all eyes were turned
towards a group coming up the centre of the hall.
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.
Holm senior, who was also one of the party, lagged behind a little,
stopping to exchange a word with the Mayor and his friend.
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.
"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.
"Fine figure of a woman, what?" whispered the Mayor, glancing towards
Mrs. Rantzau.
"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--I like 'em, but they don't agree with me!"
* * * * *
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.
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 ears did not trouble him; he seemed
gazing inwardly at a starry sky far above them all.
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.
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.
The applause was hearty and unanimous.
"Bravo, Hans!" came a deep voice from the gallery. All turned to see
who had spoken. Ah, there--it was Bramsen, standing up with both
hands outstretched and clapping thunderously.
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.
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.
* * * * *
"Father, I think I've learned something from that concert this
evening," said William, as they walked home.
"Well, my boy, and what was that?"
"Why, that genius is like pure gold; if Nature hasn't put it there
it's no use trying to make it."
"You're right, my son. And sensible people don't try. It's no good
setting up to do the work of your Creator. What do you say, Banker?"
"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.
"I say, the best thing we can do in this life's to live like sensible
people."
"_Errors and omissions excepted_," answered the banker, and he
pressed his fiancee's hand long and tenderly.
XII
OLD NICK
"This where Petter Nekkelsen lives?"
The speaker was an awkward-looking lad, acting as postman in
Strandvik for the first time.
"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!"
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.
"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."
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.
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 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.