The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun
you going into a receiver's hands?" asked Ole in a temper.
"No," answered Tidemand, "I think I can skin through without that. The ice in England and Australia is quite a help now; not much, but crowns are money to me now. I shall have to retrench, to sell what I can in order to raise cash. I thought that perhaps you would care to buy—you might use it when you are going to marry, you know, and we don't need it at all; we are never there any more—"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, I thought that you might want to buy my country estate now—You are going to be married soon, so—" "Your country house? Are you going to sell it?"
"What good is it to us?"
Pause. Ole noticed that Tidemand's composure began to fail him.
"All right. I'll take it. And whenever you want it back it will be for sale. I have a premonition that it will not be mine so very long."
"Well, God only knows. Anyway, I am doing what I can and should. I am glad the place will be yours. It is beautiful; it is not my fault we have not been there this summer. Well, this will help some; as for the rest, we'll see. I trust I can manage without closing up; that would be hard indeed. And worst for the sake of the children!"
Again Ole offered his assistance.
"I appreciate your help, and I will avail myself of it within reasonable limits. But a loss is a loss, and even if I weather the storm without going into bankruptcy I shall be a poor man all the same. I don't know whether I own a penny now or not—I am only glad that you didn't join me in that unhappy speculation, Ole; that is a blessing, anyway. Well, we'll see."
Ole asked:
"Does your wife know about this?"
"No; I'll tell her after the trip to-morrow."
"The trip? I'll cancel that, of course."
"No," said Tidemand, "I will ask you not to do that. Hanka is looking forward to it; she has spoken of it a good deal. No, I would rather ask you to act as if nothing has happened; be as cheerful as you can. I really would appreciate it. Don't mention my misfortune at all, please."
And Tidemand put the fatal wire back in his pocket.
"I am sorry I had to come and bother you with this. But I go home with a lighter heart, now I know you will take the country house."
1. Norway's Independence Day.
Sixtyfold
I
A party of ladies and gentlemen had gathered on the jetty on the day of the excursion. They were waiting for the Paulsbergs, who were late. Irgens was growing impatient and sarcastic: Would it not be better to send the yacht up for them? When finally Paulsberg and his wife arrived, they all went aboard and were soon tacking out the fiord.
Tidemand held the tiller. A couple of warehousemen from Henriksen's wharf were along as crew. Ole had arranged the trip carefully and had brought along a choice supply of provisions; he had even remembered roasted coffee for Irgens. But he had failed to find Coldevin, and he had purposely avoided asking Gregersen; the Journalist might have heard the news from Russia, and might inadvertently have betrayed the fatal tidings.
Tidemand looked as if he had spent a sleepless night. To Ole's whispered inquiry, he answered smilingly that things might be worse. But he asked to be allowed to keep his place at the tiller.
And the yacht tacked out toward the reefs.
Mrs. Hanka had chosen a place far forward; her face was fresh, and she had thrown her fur coat around her shoulders; Milde said she looked picturesque. He added loudly and gaily:
"And furthermore I wish it were drink time!"
Ole brought out bottles and glasses. He went around and wrapped the ladies in shawls and blankets. Nothing to laugh about; true, the day was bright and warm, but the sea air was treacherous. He repeatedly offered to relieve Tidemand at the tiller, but was not permitted to. No, this was the place for Tidemand; here he would not have to be entertaining, and he was not in a mood for social amenities.
"Don't lose your nerve whatever happens! Have you heard anything further?"
"Only a confirmation. We shall get it officially to-morrow, I guess. But don't worry; I have laid my lines now and shall manage to pull through somehow. I imagine I shall save the ship."
Forward the spirits of the company rose rapidly. Ojen began to get a little seasick, and drank steadily in order to subdue his qualms.
"It seems good to see you again," said Mrs. Hanka, prompted by a desire to enliven him. "You still have your delicate face, but it is not quite as pale as before you went away."
"But what is the matter with your eyes?" cried Mrs. Paulsberg mercilessly. "I have never seen him as pallid as at this very moment."
This reference to his seasickness caused general merriment. Mrs. Hanka continued to speak: She had heard his latest poem, that exquisite gem, "Memories." His excursion had certainly been fruitful in results.
"You haven't heard my very latest poem, though," said Ojen in a weak voice; "it has an Egyptian subject; the action takes place in an ancient tomb—" And, sick and miserable as he was, he looked through all his pockets for this poem. What could have become of it? He had taken it out that morning with the intention of bringing it along; he had thought that perhaps somebody would care to listen to it. He was not afraid of saying that it really was a little out of the ordinary. He sincerely hoped he hadn't lost it; in that case the trip would have proved most unfortunate for him. Never had he produced anything so remarkable; it was only a couple of pages, but….
"No," said Mrs. Hanka, "you must surely have left it behind." And she did her best to make the poor poet forget his groundless fears. She had been told that he preferred the city to the country?
He did, most assuredly. No sooner had his eyes beheld the straight lines of streets and houses than his brain was aquiver, and he had conceived that Egyptian prose poem. If that had been lost, now….
Milde had lately begun to appreciate Ojen; at last his eyes had been opened to his poetry's delicate uniqueness. Irgens, who sat close enough to hear this unusual praise, leaned over to Mrs. Hanka and said in a low voice:
"You understand? Milde knows he has nothing to fear from his competitor any more—hence his change of attitude." And Irgens pressed his lips together and smiled venomously.
Mrs. Hanka glanced at him. How he persisted in his bitterness; how unbecoming it was in him! He did not realise it, or he would not have thus compressed his lips and continually shot baleful glances at his fellow applicants. Otherwise Irgens was silent; he ignored Aagot entirely. She thought: What have I done to him? Could I possibly have acted in any other way?
The coffee was made on board, but out of regard for Ojen, who still felt badly, it was decided to drink it on the very first reef they should reach. They camped on the rocks, flung themselves on the ground, and threw dignity to the winds. It was great fun; Ojen looked with big, astonished eyes at everything—the sea, the waves which filled the air with a continuous roar, the barren reef where not a tree grew and where the grass was yellow from sun and spray. Aagot skipped round with cups and glasses; she walked in a constant fear of dropping anything and stuck the tip of her tongue out like a rope-walker.
Milde proposed that they drink her health. "Haven't you got champagne, Ole?" he asked.
The champagne was produced, the glasses filled, and the toast drunk amid cheers. Milde was in high spirits; he proposed that they throw the bottle in the sea with a note enclosed which they all were to sign.