you know yourself we have to pay for the eggs. One day the cat was
eating an omelette.”
“Only a bit that was left from dinner. But you’re all unreasonable, and
that’s the truth; you ought to see a doctor for that temper of yours.”
“I’ve seen you stand holding the cat and pushing a bowl of milk under
its nose. And you let the maids see it too. They laugh at you behind
your back.”
“They _don’t_. It’s only you that are always nasty and ill-tempered.”
The end of it was that the priest went back to his study, and his wife
was left in peace.
At breakfast next morning no one could see from her looks that she had
been suffering and wretched. All her trouble seemed charmed away, and
not a memory of their quarrel left. Her easy, changeable nature stood
her in good stead, and helped to make her life endurable. The priest
was touched once more. After all, he might as well have held his peace
about these household matters; the new housekeeper would be coming
soon, and should be on her way already.
“I’m sorry you’ll hardly be able to get those shoes just yet,” he said.
“No, no,” was all she said.
“Enok’s offering will have to be returned; the money was stolen.”
“What’s that you say?”
“Yes, only fancy--it was he who stole all that money from Mack. He
confessed before the _Lensmand_ yesterday.” And the priest told her the
whole story.
“Then it wasn’t Rolandsen after all...” said Fruen.
“Oh, Rolandsen--he’s always in mischief some way or other. An
incorrigible fellow. But, anyhow, I’m afraid your shoes will have to
wait again.”
“Oh, but it doesn’t matter about the shoes.”
That was her way, always kind and unselfish to the last--a mere child.
And her husband had never heard her complain about their poverty.
“If only you could wear mine,” he said, softening.
But at that she laughed heartily. “Yes, and you wear mine instead,
ha-ha-ha!” And here she dropped his plate on the floor and smashed it;
dropped the cold cutlet as well. “Wait a minute; I’ll fetch another
plate,” she said, and hurried out.
Never a word about the damage, thought the priest; never so much as
entered her head. And plates cost money.
“But you’re surely not going to eat that cutlet?” said his wife when
she came in.
“Why, what else should we do with it?”
“Give it to the cat, of course.”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford that sort of thing, if you can,” said he,
turning gloomy again. And this might have led to a first-rate quarrel
again, if she had not been wise enough to pass it over in silence. As
it was, both felt suddenly out of spirits....
Next day another remarkable happening was noised abroad: Rolandsen had
disappeared. On hearing the news of the find in the wood, and Enok’s
confession, he had exclaimed, “The devil! It’s come too early--by a
month, at least.” Børre the organ-blower had heard it. Then, later
in the evening, Rolandsen was nowhere to be found, within doors or
without. But Børre’s little boat, that was drawn up at the Vicarage
landing-place, had disappeared, together with oars and fishing-gear and
all that was in it.
Word was sent to Rosengaard at once about the discovery of the true
thief, but, strangely enough, Mack seemed in no hurry to come back and
take the matter up anew. Doubtless he had his reasons. Rolandsen had
cheated him into paying out a reward, and he would now have to pay the
same sum over again, which was by no means convenient at the moment. A
true Mack, he would never think of acting less open-handedly now than
before,--it was a point of honour with him,--but just at the moment he
was pressed for money. Mack’s numerous and various undertakings called
for considerable disbursements, and there had been no great influx of
ready cash for some time past. There was his big consignment of herring
still in the hands of the agents at Bergen; prices were low, and Mack
was holding. He waited impatiently for the dog-days; after that, the
fishing would be definitely at an end, and prices would go up. Also,
the Russians were at war, and agriculture in that widespread land would
be neglected; the population would need fish to help them out.
Weeks passed, and Mack failed to appear at the factory at all.
There was that bakery, too, that he had promised the people at the
Vicarage--and what was he to say when Fruen asked him? The foundations
were laid, and the ground had been levelled, but no building was being
done. Once more folk began to whisper about Mack; how, like as not, he
would find it awkward to get on with that bakery place. So strong was
this feeling of doubt, that the baker at the _Lensmand’s_ took to drink
again. He felt himself secure; a bakery could not be run up in a week;
there was time at any rate for a good solid bout. The priest heard of
his backsliding, and appealed to him in person, but with little effect;
the man felt safe at least for the time being.
And in truth, the priest, who was ever a worker, had much on his hands
just now; he spared no effort, but for all that he seemed always
behindhand. And now he had lost one of his helpers, the most zealous
of them all--Enok to wit. Only a couple of days after that disaster,
Levion had come up once more, and showed himself extremely willing to
be reinstated.
“Priest can see now, surely, there’s none could be better for the place
than me.”
“H’m! You are suspected of having started that fire yourself.”
“’Tis an everlasting thief and scoundrel said that lie!” exclaimed
Levion.
“Good! But anyhow, you’re not going to be helper again.”
“Who’s it to be this time, then?”
“No one. I shall manage without.”
That sort of man was the priest; strong and stiff and just in his
dealings with all. And he had reason now to mortify himself without
pity. The constant discomfort at home and the many difficulties of
his office were striving to demoralise him and tempt him to his
fall; reprehensible thoughts came into his head at times. Why, for
instance, should he not make peace with Levion, who could be useful
to him in many little matters by way of return? Furthermore, Mack of
Rosengaard had offered his help in any deserving case of actual need.
Well and good! He, the priest himself, was in greater need than any
of his flock. Why not apply to Mack for help on behalf of a family in
distress, and keep the help so given for himself? Then he could get
that pair of shoes for his wife. He himself needed one or two little
things as well--a few books, a little philosophy; he felt himself
withering up in the round of daily toil; his development was checked.
Rolandsen, that glib-tongued rogue, had declared it was human beings
had made God what He was, and the priest had marked the effect of that
upon his own wife. He needed books from which to arm himself for the
abolishment of Rolandsen as soon as opportunity arose.
Mack came at last--came, as usual, in splendour and state; his daughter
Elise was with him. He called at the Vicarage at once, as a matter of
courtesy; moreover, he did not in any way desire to hide away from his
promise. Fruen asked about the bakery. Mack regretted that he had been
unable to get the work done sooner, but there were very good reasons.
It was a flat impossibility to get the building done this year; the
foundations must have time to settle first. Fruen gave a little cry of
disappointment, but her husband was relieved.
“That’s what the experts tell me,” said Mack. “And what can I do? If
we were to build and finish now, then next spring’s thaw might shift
the whole foundation several inches. And what would happen to the
building above?”
“Yes, of course,” agreed the priest.
But it must not be thought that Mack was in any way discouraged; far
from it. The dog-days were past, the herring fishery was at an end,
and the agent in Bergen had wired that prices were going up by leaps
and bounds. Mack could not help telling them the news at the Vicarage.
And in return the priest was able to inform him where Rolandsen was
hiding, on an island among the outer reefs, far to the west, like a
wild savage. A man and woman had come up to the Vicarage and brought
the news.
Mack sent off a boat at once in search.
[Illustration]
XIII
The fact of the matter was, that Enok’s confession had taken Rolandsen
all unawares. He was free now, but, on the other hand, he had not the
four hundred _Daler_ to pay Mack. And so it came about that he took the
boat, with Børre’s gear and tackle, and rowed away in the silent night.
He made for the outer islands, and that was a six-mile journey, part of
it over open sea. He rowed all night, and looked about in the morning
till he found a suitable island. Here he landed; wild birds of all
sorts flew up about him.
Rolandsen was hungry; his first thought was to gather a score of gull’s
eggs and make a meal. But he found the eggs all addled. Then he rowed
out fishing, and had more luck. And now he lived on fish from day to
day, and sang and wore the time away, and was lord of that island. When
it rained, he had a first-rate shelter under an overhanging rock. He
slept on a grassy patch at night, and the sun never set.
Two weeks, three weeks, passed. Rolandsen grew desperately thin from
his wretched mode of life, but his eyes grew harder and harder from
sheer determination, and he would not give in. His only fear was that
someone might come and disturb him. A few nights back there had come a
boat, a man and a woman in it--a pair out gathering down. They would
have landed on the island, but Rolandsen was by no means that way
inclined. He had sighted them afar off, and had time to work himself up
into a fury, so that when they arrived, he made such threatening play
with Børre’s tiny anchor that the couple rowed away in fright. Then
Rolandsen laughed to himself, and a most uncomely fiend he was to look
at, with his hollow cheeks.
One morning the birds made more noise than usual, and Rolandsen
awoke, though it was still so early as to be almost night. He sees a
boat making in, already close at hand. It was always a trouble with
Rolandsen that he was so slow to anger. Here was this boat coming in,
and its coming highly inconvenient to him just then, but by the time he
had worked up an adequate rage, the men had landed. If only they had
given him time, he might have done something to stop them; might have
pelted them to rags with stones from the beach.
They were two of Mack’s folk from the factory, father and son. They
stepped ashore, and “_Goddag!_” said the older one.
“I’m not the least little pleased to see you, and I’ll do you a hurt,”
said Rolandsen.
“Ho, and how’ll you do that?” said the man, with a look at his son, but
not very bold for all that.
“Throttle you dead, for instance. What do you say to that little plan?”
“’Twas Mack himself that sent us to find you here.”
“Of course it was Mack himself. I know well enough what he wants.”
Then the younger man put in a word, and this was that Børre the
organ-blower wanted his boat and gear.
Rolandsen shouted bitterly at that. “Børre! Is the fellow mad? And what
about me then? Here am I living on a desert island; I must have a boat
to get to folk, and gear to fish with, if I’m not to starve. Tell him
that from me!”
“And then there was a word from the new man at the station, how there’s
telegrams waiting for you there. Important.”
Rolandsen jumped. Already! He asked a question or so, which they
answered, and thereafter he made no further objection, but went back
with them. The younger man rowed Børre’s boat, and Rolandsen sat in the
other.
There was a provision-box in the forepart of the boat, that waked in
his mind impertinent hopes of food. He was on the point of asking if
they had brought anything to eat with them, but restrained himself, out
of sheer lordliness and pride, and tried to talk it off.
“How did Mack know I was here?”
“’Twas the news came. A man and a woman saw you here one night; you
frightened them a deal.”
“Well, what did they want here anyway? And I’ve hit on a new
fishing-ground there by the island. And now I’m leaving it.”
“How long’d you thought to be staying there?”
“’Tis no business of yours,” said Rolandsen sharply. His eyes were
fixed on that provision-box, but he showed himself as ready to burst,
out of sheer pride, and said, “It’s more than commonly ugly, that box
there. Shouldn’t think anyone’d care to keep food in a thing like that.
What d’you use it for?”
“If only I’d all the butter and cheese and pork and butcher’s meat’s
been in that box, I’d not go hungry for years to come,” answered the
man.
Rolandsen cleared his throat, and spat over the side.
“When did those telegrams come?” he asked.
“Eh, that’ll be some time back.”
Half-way across, the two boats closed in and lay alongside; father and
son brought out their meal from the box, and Rolandsen looked all other
ways. Said the old man, “We’ve a bite of food here, if as you’re not
too proud.” And they passed the whole box across.
But Rolandsen waved it away, and answered:
“I’m fed, no more than half an hour since. As much as I could eat.
That cake of bread there looks uncommonly nicely done, though. No, no,
thanks; I was only looking at it ... smells nice, too....”
And Rolandsen chattered away, looking to every other side.
“We’re never short of plenty these parts, and that’s the truth,” he
went on. “I’ll wager now there’s not a hut nor shed but’s got its leg
of meat hung up. But there’s no need to be always eating so much; ’tis
a beastly fashion.”
He writhed uncomfortably on his seat, and went on:
“How long I was going to stay there, d’you say? Why, I’d have stayed
till the autumn, to see the shooting stars. I’ve a great fancy for such
things; it tickles me to see whole planets go to pieces.”
“There you’re talking more than I know of.”
“Planets, man--stars. Butting into one another all across the sky. ’Tis
a wild and wicked sight.”
But the men went on eating, and at last Rolandsen could contain himself
no longer. “What pigs you are to eat, you two! Stuffing all that into
you at once--I never saw....”
“We’ve done,” said the old man quietly enough.
The boats pushed apart, and the two men bent to their oars. Rolandsen
lay back and tried to sleep.
It was afternoon when they got in, and Rolandsen went up to the station
at once for his telegrams. There were encouraging messages about his
invention; a high bid for the patent rights from Hamburg, and a still
higher one from another firm through the bureau. And Rolandsen, in his
incomprehensible fashion, must needs run off to the woods and stay
there alone for quite a while before he thought of getting a bite to
eat. The excess of feeling made him a boy again; he was as a child,
with folded hands.
[Illustration]
XIV
He went to Mack’s office, and went thither as a man come to his own,
ay, as a lion. There would be strange feelings in the Mack family at
seeing him again. Elise, maybe, would congratulate him, and kindliness
from her would be a joy.
But he was disappointed. He came upon Elise outside the factory,
talking to her brother; she paid so little heed to him that his
greeting all but passed unanswered. And the pair went on talking as
before. Rolandsen would not disturb them by asking for old Mack, but
went up to the office and knocked at the door. It was locked. He went
down again and said, “Your father sent for me; where shall I find him?”
The two were in no hurry to answer, but finished what they had to say.
Then said Frederik, “Father’s up at the watergate.”
“Might have said that when I came up first,” thought Rolandsen. Oh,
they were all indifferent to him now; they had let him go up to the
office without a word.
“Couldn’t you send word to him?” asked Rolandsen.
Said Frederik slowly, “When father’s up at the watergate, he’s there
because he’s business there.”
Rolandsen looked at the two with eyes of wonder.
“Better come again later on,” said Frederik.
“If I come a second time, it’ll be to say I shan’t come a third.”
Frederik shrugged his shoulders.
“There’s father,” said Elise.
Old Mack came walking towards them. He frowned, spoke sharply, and
walked on ahead of Rolandsen to the office. All ungraciousness. Then he
said:
“Last time, I asked you to sit down. This time, I don’t.”
“No, no,” said Rolandsen. But he was puzzled at the other’s angry
manner.
But Mack found no pleasure in being harsh. He had power over this man,
who had done him a wrong, and he preferred to show himself too proud to
use it. He said, “You know, of course, what has happened here?”
Said Rolandsen, “I have been away. Things may have happened that you
know of, but not I.”
“I’ll tell you how it is, then,” said Mack. And Mack was now as a minor
God, with the fate of a human creature in his hand. “You burnt up that
insurance policy, I think you said?”
“Well, not exactly,” said Rolandsen. “To tell the truth....”
“Here it is,” said Mack, and brought out the document. “The money has
been found, too. The whole lot was found wrapped up in a kerchief that
did _not_ belong to you.”
Rolandsen made no protest.
“It belonged to Enok,” Mack went on.
Rolandsen could not help smiling at the other’s solemn manner, and
said jestingly, “Ah, now I shouldn’t be surprised if it was Enok was
the thief.”
Mack found this tone by no means to his taste; it was lacking in
respect. “You’ve made a fool of me,” he said, “and cheated me out of
four hundred _Daler_.”
Rolandsen, with his precious telegrams in his pocket, still found it
hard to be serious. “Let’s talk it over a little,” said he.
Then said Mack sharply, “Last time, I forgave you. This time, I don’t.”
“I can pay you back the money.”
Mack turned on him angrily. “The money’s no more to me now than it was
then. But you’re a cheat; do you realise that?”
“If you’ll allow me, I’ll explain.”
“No.”
“Well, now, that’s all unreasonable,” said Rolandsen, still smiling.
“What do you want with me at all, then?”
“I’m going to have you locked up,” said Mack.
Frederik came in, and went to his place at the desk. He had heard the
last words, and saw his father now, for once, in a state of excitement.
Rolandsen thrust his hand into his pocket, where the telegrams lay, and
said, “Won’t you accept the money, then?”
“No,” said Mack. “You can hand it over to the authorities.”
Rolandsen stood there still. Nothing of a lion now; properly speaking,
he had made a big mistake, and might be put in prison. Well and good!
And when Mack looked at him inquiringly, as if to ask what he might be
standing there for, he answered, “I’m waiting to be locked up.”
“Here?” Mack looked at him in astonishment. “No, you can go along home
and get ready.”
“Thanks. I’ve some telegrams to send off.”
Mack turned gentler all at once. After all, he was not a savage. “I’ll
give you to-day and to-morrow to get ready,” he said.
Rolandsen bowed, and went out.
Elise was still standing outside; he passed by her this time without a
sign. What was lost was lost; there was no helping it now.
But Elise called to him softly, and he stopped, stood gazing at her,
shaken and confused in his surprise.
“I--I was only going to say ... it’s nothing serious, is it?”
Rolandsen could make nothing of this; could not understand why she had
suddenly chosen to speak to him at all. “I’ve got leave to go home,” he
said. “To send off some telegrams.”
She came up close to him, her breast heaving; she looked round, as if
in fear of something. Then she said:
“Father was angry, I suppose. But it’ll soon pass off, I’m sure.”
Rolandsen was offended; had he himself no right in the case? “Your
father can do as he pleases,” he said.
Ho, so that was his tone! But Elise breathed heavily as before, and
said, “Why do you look at me like that? Don’t you know me again?”
Grace and kindliness without end. Rolandsen answered, “As to knowing
again or not, that’s as folk themselves will have it.”
Pause. Then said Elise at last, “But surely you can see, after what
you’ve done ... still, it’s worst for yourself.”
“Good! Let it be worst for myself then. I’m not going to be called to
account by all and sundry--I won’t stand it. Your father can have me
locked up if he likes.”
She turned without a word and left him....
* * * * *
Rolandsen waited for two days--waited for three, but there came none
to the organ-blower’s house to arrest him. He was in dire excitement.
He had written out his telegrams, ready to send off the moment he was
arrested; he would accept the highest bid for his invention, and sell
the patent. Meantime, he was not idle; he kept the foreign firms busy
with negotiations about this and that, such as purchase of the falls
above Mack’s factory, and guarantees of transport facilities. All these
matters were left in his hands for the present.
But Mack was not inclined to persecute a fellow-creature just now;
on the contrary, his business was going excellently, and as long as
things went well, it pleased him far more to be generous beyond need.
A new telegram from the agent in Bergen had informed him that the
fish was sold to Russia; if Mack had need of money, money was at his
disposal. Altogether, Mack was getting on swimmingly again.
When over a week had passed without any change, Rolandsen went down to
Mack’s office again. He was worn out with anxiety and uncertainty; he
felt he must have a decision.
“I’ve been waiting a week, and you haven’t had me arrested yet,” he
said.
“Young man,” said Mack indulgently, “I have been thinking over your
affair....”
“Old man,” said Rolandsen violently, “you’ll please to settle it now!
You think you can go on for ever and ever and be mightily gracious as
long as you please, but I’ll soon put a stop to that. I’ll give myself
up to the police.”
“Really, this tone,” said Mack, “it’s not what I should have expected
from you, considering....”
“I’ll show you what you can expect from me,” cried Rolandsen, with
unnecessary arrogance. And he flung down his telegrams on the desk.
Rolandsen’s big nose looked even more aggressive than usual, since he
had got thinner in the face.
Mack glanced through the messages. “So you’ve turned inventor?” he
said carelessly. But as he read on, he screwed up his eyes intently.
“Fish-glue,” said he at last. And then he went through the telegrams
once more.
“This looks very promising,” he said, looking up. “Am I to understand
you’ve been offered all this money for a fish-glue process of your own?”
“Yes.”
“Then I congratulate you. But surely you must feel it beneath your
dignity now to behave rudely towards an old man.”
“You’re right there, of course; yes. But I’m all worn out with anxiety.
You said you were going to have me arrested, and nothing’s happened.”
“Well, I may as well tell you the truth; I meant to do so. But other
people interfered.”
“Who interfered?”
“H’m! You know what women are. There’s that daughter of mine, Elise.
And she said no.”
“That--that’s very strange,” said Rolandsen.
Mack looked at the telegrams once more. “This is excellent,” he said.
“Couldn’t you give me some idea of the thing itself?”
Rolandsen explained a little of the process.
“That means, we’re to some extent competitors,” said Mack.
“Not to some extent only. From the moment I’ve sent off my answer,
we’re competitors in earnest.”
“Eh?” Mack started. “What do you mean? Are you going to set up a
factory yourself?”
“Yes. There’s water-power higher up, beyond your place, and more of it,
and easier to work.”
“But that’s Levion’s water.”
“I’ve bought it.”
Mack wrinkled up his forehead thoughtfully. “Good! We’re competitors,
then,” he said.
Said Rolandsen, “That means you will lose.”
But Mack, the man of power, was growing more and more offended; he was
not accustomed to this sort of thing, and not disposed to put up with
it.
“You’re strangely forgetful, young man; you keep on forgetting that
you’re in my power,” said he.
“Do as you please. If you lock me up now, my turn will come later,
that’s all.”
“What--what will you do then?”
“Ruin you,” said Rolandsen.
Frederik came in. He saw at once that the two had been having words,
and it annoyed him that his father did not settle this big-nosed
ex-telegraph person out of hand.
Then said Rolandsen aloud, “I will make you an offer: we can take
up this invention together. Make the necessary alterations in your
factory, and I’ll take over the management there. That’s my offer--and
it holds good for twenty-four hours!”
Whereupon Rolandsen strode out, leaving the telegrams with Mack.
[Illustration]
XV