"He stood alone on the sinking wreck,A sailor fearless and bold,For he knew that the last to leave the deck,Comes first when all is told."
"He stood alone on the sinking wreck,A sailor fearless and bold,For he knew that the last to leave the deck,Comes first when all is told."
And what lads they were on board theStjerna, tarry and weather-stained, but the harder it blew the smarter they went about it. There was Nils Sturika, that Christmas Eve off Jomfruland, when the pilot was to come aboard. The whole ship was like a lump of ice, and the fore-rigging ready to go by the board, with the lee shrouds and backstays torn away. They had to make the signal, but the foretop halliards were gone. And then it was Nils Sturika went up the topgallant shrouds by his hands, with the flag in his teeth, and lashed it fast to the pole.
But they got the pilot, and made in to Risorbank just in time.
Nobody shouted hurrah for Nils, and a stiff nip ofgrog was what he got when he came down; instead of a medal with ribbon and all that he'd maybe get nowadays.
Bernt Jorgensen was roused from his meditation by the sound of the salute on board theHenrik Ibsen. He rose and went up on deck to see what was going on. The shareholders, with wives and children, nephews and nieces and relatives generally, were making a tour of the vessel.
Cilia was down in the saloon, seated in state on a red plush sofa. She did not feel altogether comfortable, to tell the truth, having acquired a horror of showy furniture since her own escapade in that direction. But she was proud to feel that "we" had achieved the distinction of giving Strandvik its first steamer.
The trial trip was to take place while dinner was being served in the saloon.
TheHenrik Ibsensteamed along the fjord, beflagged from deck to top, and greeted with cheers from all along the waterside; not a citizen of Strandvik but felt a thrill of pride in his citizenship that day.
The dinner was a most festive affair. The conversation ran gaily on the topic of freights and steamship traffic. Old Klementsen already saw in his mind's eye a whole fleet of Strandvik steamers putting out to sea with flags flying, and coming home laden deep with gold to the beloved little town.
Justice Heidt, guest of honour in his capacity as principal representative of local authority, made a speech, in which he referred to "Strandvik's first steamship, a tangible witness to the high degree of initiative among our business men. The vessel has been named after a great poet, and it is our hope that it will, like its famous namesake, add to our country's credit andrenown in distant lands. Good luck and prosperity to theHenrik Ibsen." The toast was received with hearty cheers from all.
Someone proposed the health of Soren Braaten, as leader in the enterprise, and Cilia's too, as the guiding spirit of the undertaking; then the captain's health was drunk, and many more.
All were excited to a high pitch of enthusiasm. Old Klementsen, delighted to feel himself a shipowner, sat in a corner with a magnum of champagne before him, delivered an oration on the subject of time-charter on the China coast; he had read an article on the subject in a paper, and was greatly impressed by the same.
"Beautifully steady, isn't she?" said Cilia to her husband. Hardly had she spoken, however, when, "Brrr—drrrrum—drrrum—drrrum"—the passengers were thrown headlong in all directions, and Cilia herself was flung into the arms of Justice Heidt, the two striking their heads together with a force that made both dizzy for the moment.
Bottles, glasses and plates were scattered about, adding to the general confusion.
So violent was the shock that many thought the boiler had burst, and something approaching panic prevailed.
Schoolmaster Pedersen was screaming like a maniac. In his anxiety to see what was happening, he had thrust his head through one of the portholes, and could not get it back despite his utmost efforts. Everyone else was too much occupied to help him, and there he stood, unable to move.
The rest of the party hurried up on deck, all save Klementsen, who, having emptied his magnum, felthimself unable to get up the companion, and wisely refrained from making the attempt.
TheHenrik Ibsenhad struck on a sunken reef. The excitement of the occasion, together with the generous good cheer, had had their effect on the crew, who had not paid much heed to their course, with the result that the vessel had taken her own, until brought up all standing by the unexpected obstacle.
The bow had run right on the shelf of rock, and things looked distinctly unpleasant, until Soren Braaten explained that "unfortunately" there was shallow water on all sides, when the company began to feel somewhat easier in their minds.
Cilia's head was treated with vinegar bandages, and Justice Heidt's nose bound up as if in sympathy with the damage inside. But the festive spirit among the shareholders generally was at a low ebb, and anyone taking advantage of the moment might have bought shares then at well below par.
Aha, there is a tug already, theStoregut; things looked brighter in a moment, perhaps they might get off at once. But then came the question, had she sprung a leak? No; sound as a bell. A proper sort of steamer this.
A hawser was passed from the tug, then full speed astern—Hurrah—she's moving! The Henrik Ibsen drew slowly off the reef and was soon clear once more. The passengers brightened up, and soon the steamer was on her way back to Strandvik, the tug standing by in case of need.
Nachmann's supply of champagne was inexhaustible, and Thor Smith got on his feet with another speech for "the splendid vessel which has stood the test so manfully to-day. TheHenrik Ibsenwas notbuilt for picnic voyages over sunny seas; no, she had shown what she could do and borne it magnificently." Cheers for theHenrik Ibsenand general acclamation.
Then the whole company joined in the song:
"And what though I ran my ship aground,It was grand to sail the seas!"
"And what though I ran my ship aground,It was grand to sail the seas!"
At last theHenrik Ibsenset out on a real voyage in earnest, and Soren Braaten was glad enough; he felt in need of rest after all he had been through.
He told Cilia, indeed, that he would rather go sailing in the Arctic than have it all to do over again. No, this steamship business was a trial.
Hardly had Soren settled down to his well-earned rest, when, only four days after the vessel had sailed, came a telegram from Hull announcing her arrival and awaiting orders. That meant wiring off at once to the brokers in Drammen and Christiania asking for freights. The telegraph, indeed, was kept so busy, that old Anders the messenger declared the wretched steamboat gave more work than anyone had a right to expect. Now and again, at weddings and suchlike, it was only natural to have a few extra telegrams going and coming; but, then, he would take them round in bundles at a time, and be handsomely treated into the bargain. Whereas this—why, he'd hardly as much as got back from delivering one wire to Soren Braaten, when a new one came in, and off he'd have to go again. And a man couldn't even stroll round with them at his ordinary pace; it was always "urgent" or "express," or something of the sort, that sent him hurrying off as if the wind were at his heels.
And as for being handsomely treated! It was a thankless task if ever there was one. When Anders appeared with his seventh wire in one day, Soren almost flew at him. "What, you there again with more of those infernal telegram things!"
Soren Braaten had had more telegrams the last fortnight than in all his life before; and, worst of all, they were so briefly worded, it took him all his time to make out the sense. If things went on at this rate he would very soon be wanting another cure at Sandefjord, and this time in earnest.
There was never any rest, this steamer of his flew about at such a rate; just when you thought she was in England she'd be somewhere down the Mediterranean or the Black Sea. Soren said as much to his old friend Skipper Sorensen, who answered: "Better be careful, lad, or she'll run so fast one day she'll run away with all your money." And Soren was anxious about that very thing, for the remittance seemed to him rather small in comparison with the length of voyage involved.
Soren found himself at last hopelessly at sea both as to charters and accounts, and confided to Cilia one day that he was going to throw up the whole thing; as far as he was concerned, "the wretched boat can manage itself."
Cilia thought over the matter seriously. Her first idea was to take over the chartering herself, but when Soren began talking about freight from Wolgast to Salonica, and Rouen to Montechristi, her geography failed her.
Fixing the oldApolloorBirkebeinerenfor voyages in the Baltic or the North Sea was easy enough. Cilia knew the name of every port from Pitea toVlaardingen, from London to Kirkwall, but outside the English Channel she was lost.
The end of it was that Soren went in to Christiania and got a broker he knew there to take over the business, and glad he was to get rid of it. The week after, he went on boardBirkebeineren, rigged her up, and sailed with a cargo of planks to Amsterdam. Even though he made little out of it beyond his keep, it was nicer than sitting at home in a state of eternal worry about the steamer.
"It pays better than the savings bank, anyway," said Cilia, when he grumbled.
"Maybe; but it's a wearisome business all the same, this steam chartering. And we've other things to think about but what pays best."
And off he went on board his own old-fashionedBirkebeineren.
The news ran like wildfire through the town: Nils Petter Jorgensen had been left a million gylden by his wife's uncle in Holland. It was true as could be; Justice Heidt had had a letter from the Queen to say so.
"Jantje!" roared Nils Petter out into the wash-house, where his wife stood in a cloud of steam and soapsuds.
"What is it, husband?" Jantje appeared in the doorway, little, stout and smiling, with her sleeves rolled up and the perspiration thick on her forehead.
"Come into the parlour a minute."
"Oh, I haven't time now, husband. There's the washing to be done."
"Oh, bother the washing! We've done with all that now," said Nils Petter loftily. And, thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, he strode stiffly in, followed by Jantje.
"Jantje, sit down on the sofa. Ahem ... er ... an event has occurred ..."
"Have they made you captain, husband; you have got a ship? We can go to Holland together, is it not?" Jantje clapped her hands together, and looked at him expectantly. Poor Jantje had never seen her native land since the day she sailed away onboard theEva Maria, and still felt strange in Norway, speaking the language with difficulty as she did.
"We're rich, Jantje; we're millionaires, that's what it is."
Jantje turned serious at once; her first thought was that Nils Petter must have taken a drop too much—a thing that rarely happened now since he had been married.
"Don't you think you'd better lie down a little, husband?" she said quietly, pointing to the bedroom.
"Oho, you think I've been drinking? Well, here's the letter from the Justice; you can see for yourself."
Jantje took the letter and studied it intently, but could not make out a word of what it said.
"Your Uncle Peter van Groot died in Java last year, and left millions of gylden, and no children——"
"Praise the Lord!" exclaimed Jantje.
"And all those millions are ours now, seeing we're the nearest heirs since your mother and father died."
"Poor Uncle Pit—kind old Uncle Pit," sighed Jantje, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then, rising to her feet, she went on: "If that's all, husband, then I'll go and finish the washing."
"Washing, now? No, you don't, Jantje. Off with you at once and put on the finest you've got: your green dress and the coral brooch."
"But the things will be spoiled in the water, husband."
"Never mind; let them. Hurry up and get dressed now."
Jantje went off to dress, but not before she had slipped out into the wash-house, wrung out the wet things and hung them up to dry.
Nils Petter put on his best blue suit, a starched shirt with collar and cuffs, a black tie and stiff hat.
Then Jantje appeared, wearing her green dress, her face all flushed and aglow with hurrying.
The pair sat for a moment looking at one another.
"Jantje!"
"Yes, husband?"
"What shall we do with it all?"
Such a question from Nils Petter was too much for Jantje all at once. She looked helplessly round the room as if seeking for somewhere to put it.
"It's a question what to do with any amount of capital these days. Shipowning's a risky business...." Nils Petter paced up and down thoughtfully.
Then Jantje had an inspiration. "Husband, there's the big clothes-chest, room for lots of money in that." And she hurried out into the passage and began dragging out the chest.
"No, no, Jantje; leave it alone. The money'll have to be put in the bank, of course. We can't keep it in the house."
There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" It was Watchmaker Rordam. "Congratulations, my boy. Grand piece of luck, what? Must be strange-like, to get all that heap of money at once."
"Well, ye-es," said Nils Petter; "it's a trouble to know what to do with one's capital, though; these savings banks pay such a miserable rate of interest." Jantje looked at him in surprise. Why, only a fortnight ago, when he had had to renew a bill at the bank, he had declared loudly against the "pack of Jews" for charging too high a rate.
"You won't forget your old friends, Nils Petter, Ihope, now that you've come into a fortune," said Rordam.
"Trust me for that, lad," said Nils Petter. "I haven't forgotten how you helped me out when I was near being sold up; I owe you something for that. Being thankless towards friends that lent a hand when times were hard is a bad mark in the register and the sign of an unseaworthy character, and it shan't be said of Nils Petter Jorgensen." And he gripped Rordam's hand emphatically.
"Well, now, what do you say to a drink?"
"Not for me, thanks," answered Rordam. "I've—I've given it up," he added, not without some reluctance.
"Don't mind if I have one?"
"No, indeed."
"Jantje, give me a drop of Hollands. It's a plaguy business thinking out how to invest big sums of money."
Rordam had never had any experience of that sort of business, but thought he would not mind a little trouble, given the occasion.
Nils Petter drank off his glass. Rordam stuck to his refusal bravely, which so won Nils Petter's admiration that he bought of the watchmaker a splendid clock, costing five pounds, an elegant piece of work with a marble face and gilt lions above. Furthermore, on leaving, Rordam was given a piece of paper with the following words:
"Mr. Watchmaker Rordam to receive £50—fifty pounds—when I get the legacy."N. P. Jorgensen."
"Mr. Watchmaker Rordam to receive £50—fifty pounds—when I get the legacy.
"N. P. Jorgensen."
This last was a gratuity, which Nils Petter felt he ought to give for old friendship's sake.
Rordam was delighted; at last he would be able to pay off the many little odd debts that had been worrying him for years past.
Hardly had Rordam gone when Schoolmaster Pedersen came in, bringing a large oleander as a present for Jantje.
Nils Petter and the schoolmaster had never been very friendly, holding different political opinions; Nils Petter especially waxed furious whenever he saw Pedersen's anti-Swedish flag hoisted in the garden. A couple of years ago he had gone in and cut it down, but the matter was, fortunately, smoothed over, Pedersen being an easy-going man, while his wife and Jantje were very good friends.
"I just looked in, my dear Jorgensen, to see if you'd any use for a secretary. A man in your position, of course, will have any amount of writing and bookkeeping work, and you know I'd be glad to make a little extra myself."
Nils Petter was not much of a scholar. The few occasions when he had to use a pen caused him no little difficulty; his big, unaccustomed fingers gripped the pen-holder as if it were a crowbar.
"Why, I dare say I might.... And what would you want a year for that?"
"I'd leave that to you."
"Would £200 be enough?"
Pedersen jumped up in delight and almost embraced Nils Petter. "It's too much, Jorgensen, really."
"It won't be too much; there'll be a deal of work to do. But I forgot, one thing you'll have to do: get rid of that beastly flag of yours."
Pedersen turned serious. "The Norwegian flag is our national emblem, and that alone. As a truepatriot, I must stand by my convictions. Norway...."
Nils Petter broke in angrily. "Norway, Norway! There's a sight too much of that if you ask me. I've sailed with the good old Union flag round the Horn and the Cape of Good Hope as well, and it's been looked up to everywhere. You can take and sew in the Swedish colours again, if you want the place—not but what the old flag's handsome enough," he added in a somewhat gentler tone.
Pedersen thought this rather hard; but £200 a year was not to be sneezed at, and, after all, there were limits to what could be reasonably demanded of a patriot. He was accordingly appointed private secretary, on condition that the Union colours be included in his flag forthwith, and set off home rejoicing. And feeling that he could now afford a little jollification, he bought a joint of beef, a bottle of wine, and a bag of oranges for the children.
Later in the day Bernt Jorgensen came round; he, too, had heard of the wonderful legacy.
"You'll need to be careful now, with all that money, Nils Petter; a fortune's not a thing to be frittered away."
"Trust me for that, brother. And you shall have a share of it too, for you've been a good sort. I will say, though, a trifle on the saving side at times, but never mind that now. Look here, Bernt, would you care to sell theEva Maria?"
Bernt Jorgensen was so astonished at this sudden changing front that he hardly knew what to say. Hitherto Nils Petter had always been deferential and respectful towards him; now, however, he seemed to be adopting an air of lordly condescension.
"Well, what do you say?"
"Sell you theEva Maria! Well, it'd mean a lot of money for you, Nils Petter."
"Oh, that's all right. I've got plenty."
Bernt Jorgensen would not decide all at once, but wanted time to think it over.
During the next few days Nils Petter was inundated with visitors, and 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 brigCupidfrom Governor Abrahamsen for £500, 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 £1200. 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 £3000 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 oldSpesfidesfor repairs. We went in for our mates' certificate together, too. Write and say I'll take shares for the £3000; 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 poororphan 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 anythingof 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 hisshoulders 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.
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."
"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. Theparrots 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."
"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 kindlycondescension, 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 hima 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 importantpoint 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 torealise 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 theold 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.
But the Princess fluttered about the place like a dainty little butterfly. Old Missa looked after her as well as she could, and never lost sight of her if she could help it. But the Princess seemed to have wings! She would manage somehow or other to vanish in a moment:presto!gone! And there was Missa left behind in despair.
She would soon come fluttering back again, however, smiling and irresistible as ever, and throw her arms round Missa's neck and beg to be forgiven.
The Admiral grumbled and swore he would "putthe youngster in irons" if she did not keep to the house; but the youngster only laughed, perched herself on the Admiral's knee, and pulled his long white whiskers; and then he might fall to dreaming ... dreaming of distant lands, of moonlight nights beneath the palms and agaves, long and long ago.
He fussed and grumbled and stamped about the house, calling Missa a lumbering old mud-barge that couldn't keep a proper look-out; but the Princess fluttered on as before, entirely undismayed.
There was to be a grand festival in the town, a charity entertainment in aid of the Children's Home.
All the young people of the town were to assist. There was to be a theatrical performance, and an exhibition of dancing on the stage. Young Endresen and Karsten junior, of course, took a leading part in the arrangements; "for a charitable object," they could do no less. It was generally understood, however, that the real object of both young gentlemen was to see something of the Princess.
The two heirs-apparent waged a violent struggle for the Princess's favour. True, they had been duly instructed by their respective fathers, as these by their respective fathers before them, in the principle that "the house of Endresen" or "the house of Karsten" expected every son to do his duty—i.e.not to marry beneath his rank, and also, to "consolidate the standing of the firm," as it was conveniently put. As regards the question of rank, this was, in the present instance, a somewhat debatable one, but the question of consolidation was plain as could be wished. Here was a considerable fortune to be gained for the town, and thus for one of the two firms. It was certainly worth a struggle.
The Admiral had grumbled and stormed for a whole week before consenting to the Princess participating in the affair.
The Princess was to dance—a dance she had composed herself.
There was great excitement; the local theatre was crammed. The leading notabilities of the place had booked up all the stalls at more than twice the usual prices. Everyone who could get about at all was present. Even old Endresen, who generally affected to despise all such theatrical tomfoolery, had found a seat in the front row, and confided to his next-door neighbour that he had seen "Pepita" dance in Paris—had even thrown her a bouquet—"but I was very young, then, I must say," he added, with a smile.
Old folk in the town still told the story of how Endresen, as a young man, had led a gay life in Paris; a life so gay, and so expensive, that the Endresen senior of the period had promptly ordered him to come back home at once. "And he's turned out a real good man for all that," they would hasten to add.
The theatrical performance went off quite successfully, but without arousing any great amount of enthusiasm. There was applause, of course, and the principal actors had to appear before the curtain; the leading lady was duly praised for her interpretation. But it was the Princess all were waiting for.
At last the curtain rose. The scenery was ordinary enough: a "woodland scene," with the usual trees and a pale moon painted on the background. It was the standard setting, as used for classical tragedy, vaudeville and, in fact, almost anything.
Enter the Princess, daintily as if on wings. She wore a long white robe, that moved in graceful waves about her slender figure; diamonds shone and glittered in her hair. No one present had ever seen such stones, and young Endresen swore they were genuine. She wore a row of pearls too round her neck, and heavy gold rings about her bare ankles.
The spectators seemed literally to hold their breath with every nerve on the strain. The little figure up there was like a vision; her feet hardly touched the floor.
First, she glided softly across the stage, her white robe rising and falling like the gentle swell of the sea on a summer's day, then faster and faster. She whirled round, bent right down to the ground, and fell in a heap, only to spring up again in a moment and whirl round again at a furious pace.
The public was simply spell-bound. No one had ever seen, ever dreamed of such a sight.
Her great black eyes shone towards them, while that queer smile played about her mouth; she seemed to move in a world of her own. The dusty old scenery faded into nothingness; they saw but the girl herself, and sat staring, enchanted, hypnotised.
Gone! It was over. The curtain fell, and a silence as in church reigned for some seconds after; the spectators were getting their breath again, so to speak. Then something unusual happened. Old Endresen rose to his feet, clapped his hands and cried: "Encore, encore!"
Forgotten were his seventy years, his dignity, everything; he was young again, young and infatuated as he had been in Paris half a century before,when he joined in the cry of the thousands shouting, "Vive Pepita, vive l'Espagne!"
At last the general enthusiasm found vent in shouts of applause like the roar of a bursting dam. Handkerchiefs were waved; all rose to their feet.
Then once more she glided in across the stage.
Again an outburst of delighted applause.
One young man in particular seemed intent on outdoing all the rest—a fair-haired little fellow with a snub nose and pince-nez.
He sat in the stage box, and his shrill voice could be heard all over the theatre as he cried in unmistakable west coast dialect: "Bravo, bravissimo! Bravo, bravissimo!"
All looked at him and laughed. It was Doffen Eriksen, or Doffen, simply, as he was generally called. He came from Mandal originally, but had been several years in the town, first as head clerk at Eriksen's, and later with other local firms. His natural tendency to continual opposition, and lack of respect for his superiors, indeed for all recognised authority, prevented him from ever keeping a situation long.
He had recently gone over to the Socialist party, but at the very first meeting had abused his new comrades with emphasis: thieves, scoundrels and political mugwumps were among the expressions he used. The last in particular aroused their indignation, and after a few weeks he was excluded from the party. He was now a free-lance, with no regular employment.
Then it happened that the Admiral advertised for an assistant to help in the office. The Admiral used his office chiefly as a place where he could give way to bad language as often as he pleased; he felt heought to keep himself in training, and arguing with Missa was too milk and watery for his taste.
The work in the office consisted for the most part of keeping the accounts of a couple of small vessels which he owned, together with the cutting out of coupons and cashier work. The Admiral himself never condescended to take up a pen; one had coolies to do that sort of thing, he would say.
His two skippers were rated and bullied every time they came home from a voyage, but they were so used to the treatment that they never noticed it.
It was worse, however, for the clerk, who had to endure the same thing day after day.
During the last year or so, the Admiral had had four or five different specimens in the office, but they always made haste to better themselves at the earliest opportunity, or simply "got the sack." They were all either "a pack of fools that couldn't think for themselves," or "a lot of impertinent donkeys that fancied they knew everything."
And when, after one of his usual outbursts, the unfortunate in question found it too much, and gave notice to leave, the Admiral's standard answer was "All right! then I'll have to get another idiot from somewhere."
Doffen applied for the post, referring to his previous experience, and stated that he had been "simply thrown out of various situations, not through any lack of ability, but because the principals were so many blockheads, who could not bear to hear a free and independent man express his frank opinion." He was at present disengaged, on the market, and perfectly willing to undertake any kind of work whatever, "even to playing croquet." The Admiral readthe application through; it was the only one he had received in answer to his advertisement.
He grunted once or twice as he read. Missa laid down her needlework and prepared for a direct attack.
The opening seemed to take his fancy, but when he came to the part about playing croquet, he exclaimed:
"What the devil does the fellow mean? Playing croquet?"
"Who?"
"Oh, the new slave I'm getting for the office."
"Well, why not. He might play with Baby."
"Oh go to...." The Admiral got up and put the application into the fire.
Next day Doffen, as the sole applicant, was accorded the post. He sat down at the high desk, on one of those scaffold-like office stools with a big wooden screw in the middle. It was a matter of some difficulty to climb up, Doffen being small of stature, but with the aid of some acrobatic backwork, he soon learned to manage it.
Opposite his place was the Admiral's seat. He loved to sit there, in the very spot where his father had sat, year after year, as far back as he could remember.
It was not often the Admiral showed any evidence of gentler feeling, but it happened at times, when very old folk chanced to come into the office. They would stand still for a long time, looking round in wonder, and finally exclaim:
"Why, if it's not exactly as it used to be in your father's time!" and then the Admiral would jump down from his stool and slap the speaker on the shoulder.
During the first few days Doffen had not seen much of the Admiral, who had hardly looked in at the office at all. He wanted to get some idea of the "new slave's" manner and behaviour before he sat down.
On the day after the performance, the Admiral walked in and took his seat. Silence for a few minutes.
At last Doffen thought he ought to say something, and observed with the utmost coolness:
"Your daughter danced very nicely last night."
"H'm." The Admiral only grunted, and looked out of the window. Doffen imagined he had not heard.
"I was saying, Admiral, your daughter gave a deuced fine performance last night." Doffen raised his voice a little, thinking the Admiral must be hard of hearing.
"And what the devil's that got to do with you?" Doffen slammed down the lid of his desk with a bang.
"To do with me? Why, I paid for my ticket, anyway."
"I didn't ask her to dance for you, my lad, and devil take me but it shall be the last time."
"What's that to do with me?" retorted Doffen coldly.
The Admiral began to feel in his element; here at last was a man who could stand up to him.
"Can't you see she's like a young palm? Haven't you got a spice of feeling in you, man?"
"That's my business, Admiral."
The Admiral stopped short. He was on the point of bringing out his own favourite retort: "Mind your own business," and here was this fellow taking thevery words out of his mouth. He went out of the room without a word.
Several times after that the Admiral launched his attacks at the new clerk, but invariably got as good as he gave. More than that, Doffen would even take the offensive himself.
"What do you think you're doing with these two hulks of yours, Admiral, eh?"
"Hulks?"
"Yes, these two old wooden arks. The skippers go floundering about like hunted cockroaches at sea, and the ships themselves go pottering from pillar to post; it's high time you got some system into the business."
"You mind your own business, please," said the Admiral, rapping on the desk. But at that the other let himself go in his barbarous dialect, like a gramophone:
"It is my business, and as long as I'm stuck here on this spindle-shanked contrivance of a stool I'll say what I think. Take me for a dumb beast, do you? Not me! It'll take more than you know to stop me talking. We're used to rough weather where I come from."
And Doffen went on in the same strain long after the Admiral had got out of the room. The Admiral himself, however, listened with delight from the other side of the door, as Doffen thumped his desk again and again, still in the full torrent of speech. It was worth while going to the office now. No more sitting glowering at a servile, stooping-shouldered little scrap of a man, who scribbled away for dear life and shrank in terror every time he entered. Now he would generally find the room in a thick haze of tobacco smoke so thathe himself could scarcely breathe. Doffen's pipe was rarely out of his mouth. Several times the Admiral had invited him, in well-chosen words, to take his beastly pipe to a hotter place, but only to be met with the retort that it might be as well, seeing there was never a box of matches here when a man wanted a light. The Admiral came more and more often to the office now. Here at least he could be sure of getting a fair go at any time, for Doffen was always open for a game.
After a while a tone of jovial roughness grew up between the two of them, and authority was relegated to the background, exactly as Doffen wished.
Altogether there was every prospect of an idyllic understanding between the two parties, until one day Doffen fell in love, over head and ears in love beyond recall.
The Princess had captivated him completely. If she chanced to come into the office for a stamp, or to deliver a letter, his heart would start hammering like a riveting machine.
His brain was so confused he hardly knew what he was doing. He would lie awake at nights in a torment of hatred against the Endresen and Karsten boys, who were rivals for her favour. And, after all, who was better fitted than he? Had he not got the Admiral's papers into proper order? Had he not managed to knock the old porpoise himself into shape, till he was grown docile and tractable as a tame rabbit?
The Princess smiled on Doffen as she smiled on everyone, and each of course fancied himself specially favoured. Even old Consul Endresen brightened up at the sight of her, and was always ready to stop for achat; he would draw himself up and endeavour to play the gallant cavalier. He had been a widower now for many years, and it was commonly believed that he was not unwilling to enter once more into the bonds of holy matrimony, should a favourable opportunity occur.
The Admiral growled fiercely whenever Baby was out, and Missa wept and wrung her hands over the young ladies of the present day—particularly in this barbarous country.
Paying attentions? It was one continual paying of attentions all day long. The young men of the place were sick with longing when she was not to be seen, and Doffen suffered most, having occasion to see her every day. To make matters worse, she had taken to coming into the office more frequently of late, and would perch herself up on her father's high stool. There she would sit and gossip with him for half an hour at a time. Six times a week at least Doffen was in the seventh heaven of delight. She asked him questions about everything under the sun, consulting him on every imaginable subject. And then she would thank him with one of those wonderful smiles, and a look from those dark eyes of hers—oh, it was beyond all bearing.
Doffen pondered long and deep, seeking some way of coming to the point.
He must not let the others get there before him, and he decided on acoup de main, which, as he had read in the life of Napoleon, was the proper way to win a battle. He would go directly to the Admiral himself.
One morning, then, the Admiral came into the office, looked long and attentively at Doffen, and finally said:
"What's the matter with you, man? You're getting to look like a plucked goose, for all the sign of life in you!" And he jumped up on his stool.
"It's a dog's life being a man," declared Doffen sententiously.
"You find it easier, no doubt, to be a monkey," said the Admiral.
"Well, anyway, I'd be a sort of relative of yours," said Doffen. "And it's as well to be on good terms with the devil, they say."
The Admiral laughed. This was a bad sign.
Ugh! So Doffen was going to be funny, and make jokes. That sort of polite conversation was a thing the Admiral detested; it was blank tomfoolery; soup without salt.
No; what he enjoyed was proper high temper on both sides like a couple of flints striking sparks. Anything short of that made life a washy, milk-and-watery dreariness. And most people, according to his opinion, were just a set of slack-kneed molly-coddles that sheered off at the first encounter. Devil take their measly souls! When he did happen to meet with a fellow-citizen who could get into a proper towering passion, he felt like falling on his neck out of sheer gratitude and admiration. Here, at last, was aman! Women he placed in a separate category: they were "fellow-creatures," just as rabbits, for instance, whose chief business in life was to have young ones.
Doffen, then, ought to have realised that the moment was not opportune for acoup de main. He had, however, only the day before, seen the Princess out for a long walk with young Endresen, and he felt he must act promptly, so he went on:
"You could make a happy man of me, Admiral!"
"You're happy enough as it is, man."
"No, not quite. There's one thing wanting."
"And what's that?"
"Your daughter——"
"Hey? Are you off your head?"
"Your daughter," repeated Doffen. "I'd be a good husband to her, and a proper son-in-law to you."
"I'll give you son-in-law!" roared the Admiral, and, picking up the big Directory, he sent it full at Doffen's chest; the latter, taken by surprise, came tumbling down from his stool, and fell against the wood-box in the corner.
"You miserable nincompoop!" snorted the Admiral, as he rushed out of the room.
Doffen lay in the corner by the wood-box, groaning pitifully. The noise had been heard all over the house, and the Princess came rushing in to see what was the matter.
"Are you ill, Eriksen?" she asked, taking his hand.
"Oh, I think I must be dying," he said, touching his chest.
"No, no," said she. "It's not so bad as all that."
"And if so, I shall have died for you."
"Let me help you up on the sofa, now, and I'll fetch you a glass of water."
With her support he limped across to the sofa.
"Better now?" she asked, handing him the glass of water.
"Oh, I'm so fond of you," said he, and tried to take her hand.
"Oh, do stop that nonsense!" said she, with a laugh.
"Stop? How can I stop when I love you as deeply as ... as ..." he paused, unable to find a sufficiently powerful expression, then suddenly the inspiration came, and, raising himself on his elbow, he went on—"as deeply as is possiblein this line of business!"
"Oh no, really; you can talk about this another time, you know. Come along now, Eriksen, pull yourself together and be a man."
"Then it's not a final refusal—not a harsh and cruel 'no' such as your father flung at me just now—with that heavy book? Say it's not that!"
But she was gone.
Doffen lay back on the sofa once more, closed his eyes, and thought of her. At last he fell asleep, and lay there, never noticing when the Admiral peeped in through the door, "to see if the carcass was still alive." The sound of Doffen's snoring, however, reassured him, and he went away again, contented and relieved.
The Princess sat in her room, highly amused with the thought of her latest admirer. What a funny creature he was! She rather liked him really, for all that; he was always so willing and kind, and if one's ardent worshippers themselves agree to be reduced to the status of "just friends," why, it may be very handy at times to have them in reserve. No, she would not quarrel with Eriksen, because of this, not at all.
But, to tell the truth, it was getting quite a nuisance with all these admirers. Everyone of them was always wanting to meet her and go for a walk with her, and talk of love! Oh, she was so utterly weary of them all. These simpletons who imagined she was going to settle down and stay in this little place all her life!
Heavens alive, what an existence! No, thank you, not if she knew it!
It was annoying, in this frame of mind, to recollect that she promised Endresen junior to meet him at twelve o'clock by the big pond in the park. Still, a promise was a promise; she would have to go.
And lo, he came up with a huge bouquet of pale yellow roses, her favourite flower, as he knew, tied round with a piece of thin red ribbon.
"When the roses are faded, you can take the ribbon and bind me with it," he said.
"When the roses have faded? Oh, but that won't be for a long time yet—thank goodness." And she laughed.