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.
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.
By way of finding a ship for his friend Thoresen, Trina's husband,
Nils Petter had purchased the brig _Cupid_ from Governor Abrahamsen
for L500, 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 L1200. 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."
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.
Then came a number of letters addressed to "N. P. Jorgensen,
Esquire," during this time.
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 L3000 to complete, and invited Nils
Petter, for old acquaintance's sake, to take up shares to that
amount.
"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 _Spesfides_ for repairs. We went in for our mates'
certificate together, too. Write and say I'll take shares for the
L3000; that'll put him right."
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.
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.
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.
Jantje, too, liked this way best; she was always uncomfortable when
she had to put on her green dress.
The coffee-pot was puffing like a little steam-engine on the hob, and
Jantje was cutting the new bread into good thick slices.
"Jantje!"
"Yes, husband; what is it?"
"Seems to me we were a good deal better off before we got all this
money."
"Ay, that's true, that's true."
"And I don't somehow feel like moving up to Sorgenfri--it's nice and
comfortable here."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, husband. I'm so glad. I'd never feel happy
away from here."
Nils Petter and Jantje had one great regret--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.
The news soon spread that little Rasper Olsen was to be adopted by
Nils Petter. Had ever a poor orphan such a stroke of luck! They
called him the millionaire boy.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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."
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 of the sort; he was going to live his own way, and the
rest could go hang.
One day Justice Heidt came round, and asked to speak to Nils Petter
privately.
"There we are again," grumbled Nils Petter; "more about that wretched
money, I'll be bound."
"I am sorry to say," began the Justice, "I have bad news for you
about this legacy business--very bad news indeed."
"Well, I've had nothing but trouble about it from the start," said
Nils Petter, "so a little more won't make much difference."
"The legacy in question proves to be considerably less than was at
first understood--in fact, I may say the amount is altogether
insignificant."
"Well, it'll be something anyway, I suppose?" Nils Petter felt he
ought to have a little at least for all his trouble.
"I have a cheque here for 760 gylden, and that, I am sorry to say, is
all there is."
"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."
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.
And when Nils Petter set little Rasper on his 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.
XX
THE ADMIRAL
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.
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.
"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--or indeed any formality at all.
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.
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.
The Admiral and the younger consort stood on the deck of the gunboat,
watching the august swimmers with interest through a glass.
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:
"By Royal Warrant to His Majesty the King of Zumba-Lumba."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
Neither of the pair noticed anything unusual until suddenly a young
English officer appeared on deck.
He had come, it appeared, to deliver a dispatch to the Officer
Commanding the Fleet. And this is how it ran:
"SIR,--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.
"Accordingly, the Zumba-Lumba navy will henceforward be under the
Administration of the Governor at Hampa-Denga and the naval
station there.
"The bearer of this, Sub-Lieutenant Algernon Smith, is deputed to
take over for the present the command of the Zumba-Lumba
Fleet.--I have the honour to be, Sir, your obedient servant,
"C. W. MELVILLE ST. PATRICK, C.B., R.N.
"H.B.M.S. _Cyclope_, 6th February 1873."
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. _Cyclope_, and thought better of it; instead, he turned to the
bearer of the letter, and, with kindly condescension, invited him to
come below and have a drink.
Whereupon they descended to the cabin, where the Admiral initiated
his young colleague into the maritime affairs of the Zumba-Lumba.
Then the Admiral packed up his things.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Then he turned his steps towards home, and purchased the house of his
fathers on the hill just above the Custom House.
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.
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.
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.
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.
When the Admiral came home he brought with him 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.
"My daughter," said the Admiral, and that was all the information to
be obtained from that quarter.
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; _ergo_, she was of royal blood. And the
whole town accordingly styled her simply "The Princess."
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.
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.
The Princess was to be confirmed. And there was a great to-do in view
of the event.
The parson, naturally enough, requested the usual
particulars--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 point was that the names of both father and
mother should be correctly stated.
"She has no mother," the Admiral categorically declared.
"But, my dear Admiral, she must have had a mother. In the ordinary
course of nature...."
"The course of nature's extraordinary where she comes from."
"But you must have been married, surely?"
The Admiral glared, and his bushy brows contracted.
"Who?"
"You."
"I?" The Admiral chuckled.
"Yes," said the parson, lowering his voice a little; he was beginning
to feel a trifle uncomfortable.
"Oh, in the tropics, you know, there are no such formalities."
"But surely that's immoral?"
"We don't know the word in those parts." And the Admiral rose to his
feet.
The parson plucked up courage and said quietly: "But you yourself
were a Christian, Admiral, were you not?"
"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.
How the question was finally settled the writer cannot say; the fact
remains that the town was no wiser than before.
The Princess was confirmed, and received into the best society of the
town, as one of themselves. 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.
As to her antecedents, she herself never referred to the subject, and
no one was ever indelicate enough to ask her.
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.
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.
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."
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.
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 realise that any such conflicting element
might easily destroy the lead their fathers had established.
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.
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.
Skipper Hansen and Blacksmith Olsen's offspring found it was no easy
matter to compete with them.
Wealth, however, was the only thing they really respected at heart,
the old as well as the younger generation.
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.
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.
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.
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--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 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.
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.
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.