The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun
must confess it astonished me a little, a woman with two children and a large household—She has also begun to use her former name again, Hanka Lange Tidemand, just as if her name still were Lange."
Mrs. Hanka had stopped outside her own entrance; she was evidently waiting for her husband. She called to him jestingly that he had better hurry—she was almost freezing to death. And she lifted her finger banteringly and asked:
"What plots and conspiracies are you two wholesalers now hatching? Where is the price of wheat now, and what are you going to put it up to? God have mercy on you on the day of judgment!"
Tidemand answered in kind: What in the world had she done with the Journalist? So she had not wanted company, not even her own husband's; she had been in a sentimental mood? But how could she be so cruel as to let this poor fellow Gregersen ramble home all alone, drunk as he was? It was simply heartless—
* * * * *
In about a week Ole Henriksen had returned from Torahus. Ojen had remained, but Ole had brought back a young lady, his fiancée, Aagot Lynum. With them had come a third person, a somewhat peculiar fellow.
Germination
I
Ole returned from Torahus the 5th of April. He introduced his fiancée at once to the clique, presented her to his friends, and spent all day in her company. He had not as yet introduced her to Irgens and Attorney Grande because he had failed to run across them.
She was young and fair, with high bosom and a straight carriage. Her blond hair and her frequent laughter gave an impression of extreme youthfulness. She had a dimple in her left cheek and none in her right, and this solitary dimple made her peculiar, characteristic. Wasn't it strange to have one side of the face different from the other? She was of average height.
She had been so carried away with everything she had seen in the city that she wandered around in a state of joyful excitement all day. The clique had capitulated to her charm and shown her much amiability; Mrs. Hanka had simply embraced her and kissed her the moment she saw her.
She followed Ole around in the establishment, peeped into all the wonderful drawers and boxes in the store, tasted old, strong wines in the cellars, and opened in fun the heavy ledgers in the office. But she was especially fond of the warehouse, the little stall of an office down there that was filled with tart and peculiar odours from all kinds of tropical products. From the window she could see the docks, the harbour, the tugs that brought cargoes in and out and puffed stertorously, shaking the very air with their efforts. Just outside floated the little yacht with the golden masthead; it was hers; it had been conveyed to her and belonged to her legally. Ole had even been in Veritas and had its name changed to Aagot. She had all the documents.
And slate after slate is brought into the office; the accounts grow a little every day, they fill many columns, swell into larger and larger amounts; the spring season has commenced, the active period just before summer; all the pulses of trade the world over leap and quiver with passionate energy.
While Ole counts and makes notes, Aagot busies herself with something or other on the other side of the desk. She was often unable to understand how Ole managed to keep all these accounts straight without getting the amounts mixed; she had tried it herself, but in vain. The only thing she can be trusted with is the entering of endless orders in the books, and this she does carefully and conscientiously.
Ole looks at her and says suddenly:
"Lord, what tiny hands you have, Aagot! He, he! they are next to nothing. I can't understand how you can get along with them."
That is enough. Aagot throws down her pen and runs over to him. And they are happy and silly until the next slate arrives.
"Little Mistress!" he says smilingly, and looks down into her eyes, "Little Mistress!"
Time passes. At last the work is done, the accounts finished, and Ole says, while he slams the ledger shut:
"Well, I have got to go and send some wires. Are you coming along?"
"Yes, dear, if you'll let me!" she answers. And she trips along, greatly pleased.
On the way Ole remembers that he has not as yet presented his sweetheart to Irgens. "You ought to meet this fellow Irgens," he says; "he is a great man, one of the deep talents; everybody says so." Suppose they went as far as the Grand; he might be there.
They entered the Grand, passed by the tables where people sat drinking and smoking, and found Irgens far back in the room. Milde and Norem were with him.
"So here you are!" called Ole.
Irgens gave him his left hand and did not get up. He glanced through half-closed lids at Aagot.
"This, Aagot, is the poet Irgens." Ole presented him, somewhat proud of his intimate acquaintance with the great man. "My fiancée, Miss Lynum."
Irgens got up and bowed deeply. Once more he looked at Aagot, looked persistently, even, and she looked back at him; she was evidently surprised to find the poet different from what she had thought. It was over two years since she had read his book, the lyric drama which had brought him so much fame. She had thought the master to be an elderly man.
"May I congratulate?" said Irgens finally, and gave Ole his hand.
They all sat down; each got a seidel and began a conversation. The spirits around the little table rose; even Irgens grew communicative and joined in. He addressed Aagot across the table, asked if she had been in the city before, in the theatre, in Tivoli, read this book or that, visited the Exhibition of paintings? "But, Miss Lynum, you must really see the Exhibition! I should be delighted to show it to you if you cannot find a better guide—" They conversed for about ten minutes across the table, and Aagot replied rapidly to every question, sometimes laughing, now and then forgetting herself and asking questions with her head tilted sideways; her eyes were wide open and sparkling; she was not the least bit embarrassed.
Ole called the waiter. He had to leave; he was going to the telegraph office. Aagot, too, got up.
"But there is no reason why you should go, Miss Lynum," said Milde. "You can come back for Miss Lynum when you have telegraphed, Ole."
"Yes, I am going," said Aagot.
"But if you want to stay I'll call for you in a few moments," said Ole and took his hat.
She looked at him and answered almost in a whisper:
"Won't you let me come with you?"
"Certainly, if you want to."
Ole paid his check.
"Say," said Milde, "be good enough to settle this check, too. None of us is very flush to-day." And he smiled and glanced at Aagot.
Ole settled, said good-bye, and walked out with Aagot on his arm.
The three gentlemen looked after her.
"The devil!" murmured Irgens in sincere admiration. "Did you notice her."
"Did we! How the dickens did that groceryman get hold of such a beauty?"
Milde agreed with the Actor; it was simply incomprehensible. What in the world could she be thinking of!
"Don't talk so loud; they have stopped over by the entrance," said Irgens.
They had run across the Attorney. The same introduction followed; a little talk could not be avoided. They did not remove their hats and gloves and were ready to go at a moment's notice. At last they left.
That very moment a man got up from one of the farthest tables and approached the entrance…. He was a man in the forties, with greyish beard and dark eyes; his clothes were a little shabby; he was