CHAPTER VIDAYafter day passed, and Norby had not yet recalled his declaration. A notice of the forgery had already appeared in the newspaper, and the more the story spread and grew, the more humiliating it seemed to Norby it would be to retract; and the longer he put off, the more the dread of humiliation grew, and the more powerless did he feel to stoop and take the consequences.It would in fact be deliberately to make himself out a dishonourable man. Was that too to be the thanks he got for having in his kindness of heart helped Wangen?His enemies? They would rejoice as long as he lived. And the parish? An avalanche of ridicule would descend upon him, and he would always feel as if he were standing in the pillory to be the laughing-stock of every one.In Norby’s eyes the parish was something of indefinite size, which only paid attention to what he did. It was his parish, and he saw it especially when he lay with closed eyes. The woods and farms and hills and rivers were the same, but the people wereof two kinds—those who praised him, and those who spoke evil of him. There lived no others in the parish. The first he looked upon as honourable, worthy people, the second as his enemies whom he should certainly not forget. And now? He was quite sure that now people did nothing but talk about this affair. Heads were put in at doors, voices called across back-yards: Have you heard it? He saw people bustling up paths, flying off onski, writing letters to other villages and towns: Have you heard it?And if he now gave his wife away to this same parish, there would be further excitement; it made him angry to think of it.But now people began to come to the old man and talk about the matter. What was he to say? He must say something. At first he tried to get away from the subject, but afterwards he was afraid that he might have betrayed himself. “I am an idiot,” he thought. “It won’t make it any worse than it is already if I say it until I can find a way out.” And at last the day came when he said it in so many words, half in impatience to be left alone.When the stranger went away, the old man stood at the window looking after him with a feeling similar to that with which he had looked after the man onskithat day. This man would tell it to others. He had said something that he could never recall.He felt now that the way to the bailiff was closed.He must keep it up for the present. And henceforward, every time he repeated the bitter falsehood, he felt bound to say it once more in order to make it consistent. But he always stood, as it were, and looked after this dangerous lie, which branched out from his own tongue, wandered about the parish, and grew every day like a spectre that would one day turn against him. And yet he was obliged to help the spectre to grow still more, for, like the lion-tamer who dares not turn his back on the lion, he must not waver, must not show fear, and there was nothing to be done but to stick to the story.During the dark, snow-laden, winter days, the old man tramped about the yard, went in at one outhouse door, came out of another, scolded a little here and there, and imagined he was busy, which he was not. When he knew he was not observed he would stand and stare at his boots, then shake his head and say: “If it only hadn’t been Herlufsen!”But there sat the house like the troll with its head up to the sky, and called across the valley, jibing and mocking as it always did when Norby was in trouble: “How are you, Norby? Do you feel bad?”“Poor father!” said Ingeborg to her mother in the kitchen. “He begins to look so pale and wretched; he can’t possibly be well.”“No,” said her mother; “I suppose it’s this affair that is telling upon him. Of course it can’t be very pleasant, but it isn’t our fault. Wangen has himself to thank for it.”Ingeborg became doubly zealous in her attentions to her father the more depressed he seemed to be. How touched she was at his taking the matter so much to heart! People could see now how good her father was! She had always known that he was the best man in the world.But how frightened the poor girl was the day she heard that Wangen had said that it was Norby, and not himself, who would go to prison. Up to that time she had had a certain amount of sympathy with Wangen, because he was guilty; but now he became a dreadful man in her eyes. And suppose he succeeded in bringing trouble upon her father! She dared not mention it to her mother, and as there was no one to whom she could confide her anxiety, it grew larger and larger, and began to keep her awake at night.It was now, however, that she sought comfort of God, and every night prayed long, fervent prayers; but she knew that if her prayers were to be answered, she must make herself worthy to pray. She thought too that as she succeeded in overcoming the powers of evil in herself, she noticed that her prayers seemed to receive comforting answers; and little by little she began to see her father surrounded by the powers of goodness, who would protect him. How happy she was! Wangen could not hurt him now; he might try if he liked, but it would be of no use!From that day the weary, sad girl began to goabout with a brighter face and lighter step, as if she had a secret joy glowing within her.The disagreement between Norby and his wife was over; but it had never been so impossible to tell her the rights of the case as it was now.One day, about the middle of the week, the old man drove Laura in the double sledge to the station, as she was going back to town to continue school. It was a frosty day with cloudless sky and glittering stretches of snow. The sledge-runners creaked upon the hard snowy road. The old man sat in his fur coat, and glanced now and then at his daughter. He had never seen her so pretty as she was to-day. The frost had put such a colour into her young cheeks, and made her eyes so clear and blue; and the oftener she turned those eyes upon him while she talked and laughed the more ashamed did he feel of no longer deserving this child’s confidence.“You must write to us a little oftener than you generally do,” he said, looking straight before him at the horse. “We should like to know if anything happens to you.”When he said good-bye at the station, while the engine stood snorting preparatory to the departure of the train, he had a great desire to kiss her on the forehead; but caresses were not in Norby’s line, and he contented himself with slipping some extra money into her hand.“You must buy something with that,” he said. That was the kiss.When he drove home again in the sledge, he felt as though he were alone in the world. And who could tell what evil he was now driving towards, as he went home to Norby?When he arrived there, Marit met him at the outer door.“You’ve actually gone and forgotten that declaration again,” she said, referring to a written declaration to the merchant with whom Wangen had deposited his guarantee document.“Where’s the hurry?” murmured the old man as he took off his fur coat.“It’s been lying here for a week now, and yesterday he telephoned to ask what had become of it.”Norby went slowly into his office where the declaration lay written out. But though he had now spoken about Wangen’s forgery to all sorts of people, it was quite another thing to have to put his name to it.Marit had followed him, and she stood waiting at the door.“Must it be done now?” said the old man, slowly raising his eyes to hers as he fumbled for his spectacle-case.“I am going to the post-office, and I’ll take it with me.”Marit felt herself the motive-power in this affair. She feared that behind her back he might be prevailed upon to pull down what she had built up.He dipped his pen in the ink, but then paused and sat gazing at Johan Sverdrup’s portrait.“It’s a bad business, this,” he said, with his eyes upon the portrait.“Yes!” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “You must protect yourself and your belongings while there’s law and justice in the land.”“Yes, yes,” sighed the old man. And again he saw the spectre that grew and grew, and would fall down upon him on the day he turned round; and slowly he signed his name, Knut O. Norby.When his wife had left the house he was once more standing and looking after an action that was set in motion and could not be overtaken. The thing was done now; he had put his name to a false declaration. The name Knut O. Norby would henceforth not be so well esteemed as formerly.“No, I must find some work to do,” he thought, shaking himself. “Perhaps that’ll cheer me up.”But feeling rather tired, for he had not slept much the night before, he lay down upon the leather sofa and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling as though he should not be able to get up for ever so long.What made him uncomfortable was that he now always had a vision of Wangen before him. Ever since the day when he had set Wangen in an ugly light in order to have an excuse for not going to the bailiff, the man seemed burnt into his consciousness. He began to meet him everywhere, and to see him in every one he talked to. He sawhim now, and sprang up and out, harnessed a horse, and drove to the forest to look at the timber-driving.He heard the crash of the logs far in among the hills, and was not long in getting there. Some great trunks had been driven out to the road, and a load was just coming to the top of the steep hill where a slide had been cut through the trees. But what was that? The horse sat down upon its haunches, and down the long steep incline went horse and load hidden in a cloud of snow. This was madness, and the old man’s anger rose. But when the load reached the road the horse was unhurt, and Norby saw, to his great surprise, that the driver was Wangen.Norby went up with his whip. Words failed him. Then Wangen, beginning to unload, said: “You’re trying to tax me with a forgery, Norby, but how about your own affairs?” Norby raised his whip and would have struck him, but another load appeared at the top of the hill, and again the horse sat down upon its haunches and away it went. And that was the way they used Norby’s horses, was it? He’d give them a lesson, he would! But when the driver came out down at the pile of logs, it was Wangen again! How the d——? And now he unloaded and said with a mocking smile: “You’re trying to tax me with forgery, Norby, but—ha!—ha!—what about yourself?” Norby again raised his whip and would have struck him, but suddenly caught sight of another horse at the top of the hill. It was the young brood-mare, and it would injure its feet inthe slide. But it was Wangen again, and his lips were parted with the same smile: “I say, Norby, have you a good conscience? It’s true the witness is dead, but just you wait!” And then another load came, and another; the hill was one cloud of snow enveloping a string of loads, and there were more coming; and Wangen drove every load, always that cursed Wangen!The old man cried out and sprang up from the sofa, rubbing his eyes. Thank goodness!“I must get something to do,” he said, and put on his things and went out. It was too late to look at the timber-felling that day. He sauntered along to the pig-stye: but the twelve fat, yellow animals that had hitherto been his pride now seemed to him to be utter failures. “Things are beginning to go wrong with me,” he thought. “And now in addition I’m to have this! That’s the thanks I get for my kindness!” He sighed, and was passing on; but a pig put its snout between the palings and wanted to be scratched. The old man stretched out his hand, but suddenly drew back a step, for this pig too was——A shudder ran through him, and he hastened out, and from a kind of curiosity he also went through the cow-shed. The cows turned in their stalls and lowed gently one after another; and he gazed, half in curiosity, half in terror, at each head, and saw that the first, the second, the third—ugh, what did it mean! He turned quickly and fled. He was beginning to seethat hated face in innocent animals too. He slammed the heavy cow-shed door after him, and the lowing of two or three cows at the same moment added to his feeling of uncanniness.“You great idiot!” he said at last to himself when he was fairly out. “To go and imagine things like that!” He was going in the direction of the stables, but turned round suddenly. He did not dare.He began to think that his men had not the respect for him that they formerly had, and he was therefore unusually hot-tempered with them. When he was driving he thought that the horses did not go so willingly either—as if they had a suspicion too; and he used the whip more than ever before, and drove recklessly. It was at any rate no mistake that his good dog Hector began to look timidly at him, as if he too suspected something.“Don’t be uneasy!” he said to himself, “you’ve risen in the esteem of your fellow creatures at any rate.” The fury of the country-side against Wangen only placed Norby in a better light. If one man took Wangen’s part, it stirred up twenty to range themselves on Norby’s side; and as the old man drove along in his single sledge, dressed in his fur coat, people bowed lower than before, and those who had hitherto never bowed did so now. And the old man would laugh silently to himself. “The beasts despise me for what I have done,” he thought, “but men respect me. Such is life!”“They surely can’t be merely making fun of me?” he thought one day. “Suppose they’re only showing me all this respect in mockery!” The idea was unbearable, and he felt he must make sure whether it were so or not.One day the people at the parsonage were surprised to see Norby drive up to the door, and come tramping in in his great driving boots. He was very cheerful, and as he sat leaning forward and stroking his knees, he told them that next Saturday he and his wife had determined to roast a pig whole, as he had seen it done in England, and if any one cared to come they might get a bone to gnaw.Both the pastor and his wife began to laugh, for Norby always gave an invitation in his own peculiar way. And the old man thought: “They can’t have any suspicion of me when they laugh so naturally;” and when they both accepted his invitation he felt himself secure.He also dropped in at the doctor’s, and there things went just as smoothly. And he was at the bailiff’s, the judge’s and the sheriff’s; and when he finally turned his face homewards he sat and chuckled.It was, as usual, a capital dinner at Norby. The old man took a special pleasure in being able to put such silver and wine on his table as none of the other magnates could produce. Both the pork and the wine raised the spirits of the guests, and the oldman’s face shone, and grew redder and brighter the more he ate and drank and talked. No mention was made of the great matter itself; but as Norby sat at the head of the table, and drank with one after another down the rows, or with all together, he noted in each glance and smile the very feeling he wished to see, namely: “You’re a jolly good fellow!”When at last the company were scattered over the two large drawing-rooms with their coffee, the bailiff came and drew him a little aside; and while they stood with their cups at the level of their chests the bailiff told him in a whisper that the judge had received the guarantee document. The bailiff had seen it, and he must say that Norby’s signature was well counterfeited. But Jörgen Haarstad’s! That was too foolish! Haarstad did not write like a copy-book, it is true; but his writing was not so crooked and illegible as all that,thatthe bailiff could testify.“You fool!” thought Norby, and drank liqueur with him. “As if men like Haarstad didn’t write their name in a dozen different ways. Youarea genius!” But aloud he said: “Have you spoken to Wangen?”The bailiff laughed. “Indeed I have,” he said. “He declares that the signing took place in the café at the Grand.”“That’s not true,” thought Norby; “it was at the Hotel Carl Johan.”The bailiff emptied his liqueur-glass and continued: “But it’s awkward for him that his witness is dead, and that there’s no one who saw you write your name. And it gives a bad impression, too, to hear that a number of people are now getting bills from his general store, which they have paid long ago. He’s a shady character.”When the sound of the last sledge-bells passed from the yard a little over midnight, Norby began to walk about the empty rooms, rubbing his hands, for he knew now for certain that people esteemed him as the old Knut Norby.“But in the Grand café? That’s a downright lie. I’ve never in my life put my name to any paper there. What a confounded liar he is!”The consciousness that at any rate a fraction of this matter was a lie, now felt like a relief. No one in the world could prove that he had ever signed anything at the Grand.“But I shall win the whole thing. I can be quite easy about that.” And then a little later: “But shall I win?”He sank down at a table in the little room leading off one of the drawing-rooms, on which stood a bottle of liqueur. When Marit came to get him to go to bed she was very much astonished to find him intoxicated, and she could not get him to move. An hour later she went with a candle in her hand through the dark rooms where the tobacco-smokestill hung in light clouds. There was a light behind the curtains in the doorway. She peeped cautiously in, and saw that the old man had sunk back on to the sofa, and was asleep with his glass in his hand.
DAYafter day passed, and Norby had not yet recalled his declaration. A notice of the forgery had already appeared in the newspaper, and the more the story spread and grew, the more humiliating it seemed to Norby it would be to retract; and the longer he put off, the more the dread of humiliation grew, and the more powerless did he feel to stoop and take the consequences.
It would in fact be deliberately to make himself out a dishonourable man. Was that too to be the thanks he got for having in his kindness of heart helped Wangen?
His enemies? They would rejoice as long as he lived. And the parish? An avalanche of ridicule would descend upon him, and he would always feel as if he were standing in the pillory to be the laughing-stock of every one.
In Norby’s eyes the parish was something of indefinite size, which only paid attention to what he did. It was his parish, and he saw it especially when he lay with closed eyes. The woods and farms and hills and rivers were the same, but the people wereof two kinds—those who praised him, and those who spoke evil of him. There lived no others in the parish. The first he looked upon as honourable, worthy people, the second as his enemies whom he should certainly not forget. And now? He was quite sure that now people did nothing but talk about this affair. Heads were put in at doors, voices called across back-yards: Have you heard it? He saw people bustling up paths, flying off onski, writing letters to other villages and towns: Have you heard it?
And if he now gave his wife away to this same parish, there would be further excitement; it made him angry to think of it.
But now people began to come to the old man and talk about the matter. What was he to say? He must say something. At first he tried to get away from the subject, but afterwards he was afraid that he might have betrayed himself. “I am an idiot,” he thought. “It won’t make it any worse than it is already if I say it until I can find a way out.” And at last the day came when he said it in so many words, half in impatience to be left alone.
When the stranger went away, the old man stood at the window looking after him with a feeling similar to that with which he had looked after the man onskithat day. This man would tell it to others. He had said something that he could never recall.
He felt now that the way to the bailiff was closed.He must keep it up for the present. And henceforward, every time he repeated the bitter falsehood, he felt bound to say it once more in order to make it consistent. But he always stood, as it were, and looked after this dangerous lie, which branched out from his own tongue, wandered about the parish, and grew every day like a spectre that would one day turn against him. And yet he was obliged to help the spectre to grow still more, for, like the lion-tamer who dares not turn his back on the lion, he must not waver, must not show fear, and there was nothing to be done but to stick to the story.
During the dark, snow-laden, winter days, the old man tramped about the yard, went in at one outhouse door, came out of another, scolded a little here and there, and imagined he was busy, which he was not. When he knew he was not observed he would stand and stare at his boots, then shake his head and say: “If it only hadn’t been Herlufsen!”
But there sat the house like the troll with its head up to the sky, and called across the valley, jibing and mocking as it always did when Norby was in trouble: “How are you, Norby? Do you feel bad?”
“Poor father!” said Ingeborg to her mother in the kitchen. “He begins to look so pale and wretched; he can’t possibly be well.”
“No,” said her mother; “I suppose it’s this affair that is telling upon him. Of course it can’t be very pleasant, but it isn’t our fault. Wangen has himself to thank for it.”
Ingeborg became doubly zealous in her attentions to her father the more depressed he seemed to be. How touched she was at his taking the matter so much to heart! People could see now how good her father was! She had always known that he was the best man in the world.
But how frightened the poor girl was the day she heard that Wangen had said that it was Norby, and not himself, who would go to prison. Up to that time she had had a certain amount of sympathy with Wangen, because he was guilty; but now he became a dreadful man in her eyes. And suppose he succeeded in bringing trouble upon her father! She dared not mention it to her mother, and as there was no one to whom she could confide her anxiety, it grew larger and larger, and began to keep her awake at night.
It was now, however, that she sought comfort of God, and every night prayed long, fervent prayers; but she knew that if her prayers were to be answered, she must make herself worthy to pray. She thought too that as she succeeded in overcoming the powers of evil in herself, she noticed that her prayers seemed to receive comforting answers; and little by little she began to see her father surrounded by the powers of goodness, who would protect him. How happy she was! Wangen could not hurt him now; he might try if he liked, but it would be of no use!
From that day the weary, sad girl began to goabout with a brighter face and lighter step, as if she had a secret joy glowing within her.
The disagreement between Norby and his wife was over; but it had never been so impossible to tell her the rights of the case as it was now.
One day, about the middle of the week, the old man drove Laura in the double sledge to the station, as she was going back to town to continue school. It was a frosty day with cloudless sky and glittering stretches of snow. The sledge-runners creaked upon the hard snowy road. The old man sat in his fur coat, and glanced now and then at his daughter. He had never seen her so pretty as she was to-day. The frost had put such a colour into her young cheeks, and made her eyes so clear and blue; and the oftener she turned those eyes upon him while she talked and laughed the more ashamed did he feel of no longer deserving this child’s confidence.
“You must write to us a little oftener than you generally do,” he said, looking straight before him at the horse. “We should like to know if anything happens to you.”
When he said good-bye at the station, while the engine stood snorting preparatory to the departure of the train, he had a great desire to kiss her on the forehead; but caresses were not in Norby’s line, and he contented himself with slipping some extra money into her hand.
“You must buy something with that,” he said. That was the kiss.
When he drove home again in the sledge, he felt as though he were alone in the world. And who could tell what evil he was now driving towards, as he went home to Norby?
When he arrived there, Marit met him at the outer door.
“You’ve actually gone and forgotten that declaration again,” she said, referring to a written declaration to the merchant with whom Wangen had deposited his guarantee document.
“Where’s the hurry?” murmured the old man as he took off his fur coat.
“It’s been lying here for a week now, and yesterday he telephoned to ask what had become of it.”
Norby went slowly into his office where the declaration lay written out. But though he had now spoken about Wangen’s forgery to all sorts of people, it was quite another thing to have to put his name to it.
Marit had followed him, and she stood waiting at the door.
“Must it be done now?” said the old man, slowly raising his eyes to hers as he fumbled for his spectacle-case.
“I am going to the post-office, and I’ll take it with me.”
Marit felt herself the motive-power in this affair. She feared that behind her back he might be prevailed upon to pull down what she had built up.
He dipped his pen in the ink, but then paused and sat gazing at Johan Sverdrup’s portrait.
“It’s a bad business, this,” he said, with his eyes upon the portrait.
“Yes!” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “You must protect yourself and your belongings while there’s law and justice in the land.”
“Yes, yes,” sighed the old man. And again he saw the spectre that grew and grew, and would fall down upon him on the day he turned round; and slowly he signed his name, Knut O. Norby.
When his wife had left the house he was once more standing and looking after an action that was set in motion and could not be overtaken. The thing was done now; he had put his name to a false declaration. The name Knut O. Norby would henceforth not be so well esteemed as formerly.
“No, I must find some work to do,” he thought, shaking himself. “Perhaps that’ll cheer me up.”
But feeling rather tired, for he had not slept much the night before, he lay down upon the leather sofa and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling as though he should not be able to get up for ever so long.
What made him uncomfortable was that he now always had a vision of Wangen before him. Ever since the day when he had set Wangen in an ugly light in order to have an excuse for not going to the bailiff, the man seemed burnt into his consciousness. He began to meet him everywhere, and to see him in every one he talked to. He sawhim now, and sprang up and out, harnessed a horse, and drove to the forest to look at the timber-driving.
He heard the crash of the logs far in among the hills, and was not long in getting there. Some great trunks had been driven out to the road, and a load was just coming to the top of the steep hill where a slide had been cut through the trees. But what was that? The horse sat down upon its haunches, and down the long steep incline went horse and load hidden in a cloud of snow. This was madness, and the old man’s anger rose. But when the load reached the road the horse was unhurt, and Norby saw, to his great surprise, that the driver was Wangen.
Norby went up with his whip. Words failed him. Then Wangen, beginning to unload, said: “You’re trying to tax me with a forgery, Norby, but how about your own affairs?” Norby raised his whip and would have struck him, but another load appeared at the top of the hill, and again the horse sat down upon its haunches and away it went. And that was the way they used Norby’s horses, was it? He’d give them a lesson, he would! But when the driver came out down at the pile of logs, it was Wangen again! How the d——? And now he unloaded and said with a mocking smile: “You’re trying to tax me with forgery, Norby, but—ha!—ha!—what about yourself?” Norby again raised his whip and would have struck him, but suddenly caught sight of another horse at the top of the hill. It was the young brood-mare, and it would injure its feet inthe slide. But it was Wangen again, and his lips were parted with the same smile: “I say, Norby, have you a good conscience? It’s true the witness is dead, but just you wait!” And then another load came, and another; the hill was one cloud of snow enveloping a string of loads, and there were more coming; and Wangen drove every load, always that cursed Wangen!
The old man cried out and sprang up from the sofa, rubbing his eyes. Thank goodness!
“I must get something to do,” he said, and put on his things and went out. It was too late to look at the timber-felling that day. He sauntered along to the pig-stye: but the twelve fat, yellow animals that had hitherto been his pride now seemed to him to be utter failures. “Things are beginning to go wrong with me,” he thought. “And now in addition I’m to have this! That’s the thanks I get for my kindness!” He sighed, and was passing on; but a pig put its snout between the palings and wanted to be scratched. The old man stretched out his hand, but suddenly drew back a step, for this pig too was——
A shudder ran through him, and he hastened out, and from a kind of curiosity he also went through the cow-shed. The cows turned in their stalls and lowed gently one after another; and he gazed, half in curiosity, half in terror, at each head, and saw that the first, the second, the third—ugh, what did it mean! He turned quickly and fled. He was beginning to seethat hated face in innocent animals too. He slammed the heavy cow-shed door after him, and the lowing of two or three cows at the same moment added to his feeling of uncanniness.
“You great idiot!” he said at last to himself when he was fairly out. “To go and imagine things like that!” He was going in the direction of the stables, but turned round suddenly. He did not dare.
He began to think that his men had not the respect for him that they formerly had, and he was therefore unusually hot-tempered with them. When he was driving he thought that the horses did not go so willingly either—as if they had a suspicion too; and he used the whip more than ever before, and drove recklessly. It was at any rate no mistake that his good dog Hector began to look timidly at him, as if he too suspected something.
“Don’t be uneasy!” he said to himself, “you’ve risen in the esteem of your fellow creatures at any rate.” The fury of the country-side against Wangen only placed Norby in a better light. If one man took Wangen’s part, it stirred up twenty to range themselves on Norby’s side; and as the old man drove along in his single sledge, dressed in his fur coat, people bowed lower than before, and those who had hitherto never bowed did so now. And the old man would laugh silently to himself. “The beasts despise me for what I have done,” he thought, “but men respect me. Such is life!”
“They surely can’t be merely making fun of me?” he thought one day. “Suppose they’re only showing me all this respect in mockery!” The idea was unbearable, and he felt he must make sure whether it were so or not.
One day the people at the parsonage were surprised to see Norby drive up to the door, and come tramping in in his great driving boots. He was very cheerful, and as he sat leaning forward and stroking his knees, he told them that next Saturday he and his wife had determined to roast a pig whole, as he had seen it done in England, and if any one cared to come they might get a bone to gnaw.
Both the pastor and his wife began to laugh, for Norby always gave an invitation in his own peculiar way. And the old man thought: “They can’t have any suspicion of me when they laugh so naturally;” and when they both accepted his invitation he felt himself secure.
He also dropped in at the doctor’s, and there things went just as smoothly. And he was at the bailiff’s, the judge’s and the sheriff’s; and when he finally turned his face homewards he sat and chuckled.
It was, as usual, a capital dinner at Norby. The old man took a special pleasure in being able to put such silver and wine on his table as none of the other magnates could produce. Both the pork and the wine raised the spirits of the guests, and the oldman’s face shone, and grew redder and brighter the more he ate and drank and talked. No mention was made of the great matter itself; but as Norby sat at the head of the table, and drank with one after another down the rows, or with all together, he noted in each glance and smile the very feeling he wished to see, namely: “You’re a jolly good fellow!”
When at last the company were scattered over the two large drawing-rooms with their coffee, the bailiff came and drew him a little aside; and while they stood with their cups at the level of their chests the bailiff told him in a whisper that the judge had received the guarantee document. The bailiff had seen it, and he must say that Norby’s signature was well counterfeited. But Jörgen Haarstad’s! That was too foolish! Haarstad did not write like a copy-book, it is true; but his writing was not so crooked and illegible as all that,thatthe bailiff could testify.
“You fool!” thought Norby, and drank liqueur with him. “As if men like Haarstad didn’t write their name in a dozen different ways. Youarea genius!” But aloud he said: “Have you spoken to Wangen?”
The bailiff laughed. “Indeed I have,” he said. “He declares that the signing took place in the café at the Grand.”
“That’s not true,” thought Norby; “it was at the Hotel Carl Johan.”
The bailiff emptied his liqueur-glass and continued: “But it’s awkward for him that his witness is dead, and that there’s no one who saw you write your name. And it gives a bad impression, too, to hear that a number of people are now getting bills from his general store, which they have paid long ago. He’s a shady character.”
When the sound of the last sledge-bells passed from the yard a little over midnight, Norby began to walk about the empty rooms, rubbing his hands, for he knew now for certain that people esteemed him as the old Knut Norby.
“But in the Grand café? That’s a downright lie. I’ve never in my life put my name to any paper there. What a confounded liar he is!”
The consciousness that at any rate a fraction of this matter was a lie, now felt like a relief. No one in the world could prove that he had ever signed anything at the Grand.
“But I shall win the whole thing. I can be quite easy about that.” And then a little later: “But shall I win?”
He sank down at a table in the little room leading off one of the drawing-rooms, on which stood a bottle of liqueur. When Marit came to get him to go to bed she was very much astonished to find him intoxicated, and she could not get him to move. An hour later she went with a candle in her hand through the dark rooms where the tobacco-smokestill hung in light clouds. There was a light behind the curtains in the doorway. She peeped cautiously in, and saw that the old man had sunk back on to the sofa, and was asleep with his glass in his hand.