Dry Fish and Wet Part 28

At last, having ploughed his way conscientiously through the invitation, Berg looked up, with a searching glance at Old Nick, who faced him without moving a muscle.

"H'm. H'mmm--look here, you know, Nickelsen, don't you think we could find some one else to give a banquet for instead of Prois?"

"Well, no, I can't see that we could. I don't know anyone else that's been on the Rates Committee for twenty-five years."

"He'd have been more use to the place if he hadn't been on it at all," grumbled the other.

"Oh, well, if you don't feel inclined to join with the leading people in the town on such an occasion, why...." Old Nick began folding up the list, but very slowly.

"Of course I'll come in--only I can't see what he's done to deserve it, hang me if I can."

"Look here, Halvor Berg, you can surely understand that when the parson, the doctor and myself go in for a thing like this, we've some reason for it."

"All right, all right! Hand me the list, then."

And he wrote with big, sprawling letters "H. Berg," at the same time inquiring whether an after-dinner toddy was included in the four s.h.i.+llings.

On leaving Halvor Berg's, Old Nick regarded the matter as settled; when this cautious old card had put his name, the rest of them would soon follow after.

Sukkestad, the dealer, was inclined to hesitate, and could not make out what Prois had really done either, but since Halvor Berg was in it, why, he might as well put down his four s.h.i.+llings too.

Apothecary Peters, who had only been a week in the place, was most grateful for the honour done him in inviting him to be present, and insisted on paying down his four s.h.i.+llings on the spot--at which Old Nick was incautious enough to remark that it was not wise to skin your beast before you'd killed him--Old Prois being the beast.

The rest followed as one man, and by the evening the list counted over sixty names, from all cla.s.ses of society. Even old Klementsen, who had been parish clerk for fifty years, without getting so much as a silver spoon for his trouble, set down his name with a smile, albeit with an inward gnas.h.i.+ng of teeth.

Thor Smith sat up in the magistrate's office, sweating over a taxation case. In the inner office was the old magistrate himself, with his wig awry, smoking his coa.r.s.e-cut tobacco.

"Filthy hole of a place this is," soliloquised Smith. "Hang me if it isn't enough to make a man weep. I wonder how Old Nick's getting on with that list now? Oh, it's no good, I know; things never do go right." He glanced out of the window and up along the street, in case Old Nick might be coming along.

But--what on earth--a green tartan frock, and a toque with a white feather--she herself! He placed himself in the window, as if by accident--aha, she catches sight of him. And such a blush--and then she looks down. Won't she look up again? Yes, just once.

A smile of understanding, and she hurries away, as if from some deed of guilt. Thor Smith flattened his nose against the pane, staring after her as long as he could still see a thread of the green skirt, and for some time after.

He was awakened from his reverie by the magistrate himself, who came up behind and looked over his shoulder inquisitively.

"Well, and what are we looking out at, eh?"

"Oh, only those two funny old women over in the woollen shop; I never saw such queer things as they are."

"Nothing to look at in them that I can see," said the magistrate, who was by no means a woman-hater. And, taking his hat and stick, he bustled out.

A moment later Old Nick entered, flushed and out of breath. "Old man in?"--"No."--"Good!" He flung himself down in a chair and handed the list across to Smith.

"Puh! Devil take it, but this is hard work. And all for you and your lady-love. You don't deserve it."

Smith took the list and began counting the names. "Seventy-two--why, that's splendid, Nickelsen; you're a trump."

"Yes; don't you think I deserve a medal for it, what? Oh, by the way, though, we must hurry up and get hold of Prois himself now, or we'll have somebody else telling him all about it beforehand."

The esteemed fellow-citizen was busy down at the waterside, with a big pile-driver repairing the landing-stage. The men hauled at the ropes, while he stood by, calling the time in approved sing-song: "And one ohoy, and two ohoy, and three...." he stopped short at sight of Smith and Nickelsen approaching. He looked by no means pleased as he handed over command to Pilot Iversen, and told him to carry on with the pile-driving.

Tulla Prois was in the kitchen, making fish-b.a.l.l.s; but on seeing the three men enter in solemn procession, she ran off in a fright to the attic, hid herself in a corner and burst out crying violently; evidently the matter was to be decided now once and for all. "Oh, it's mean of Thor," she murmured. "Why couldn't he wait till father was in a better temper?"

Meanwhile, Old Prois was wondering what on earth the two men could want with him.

He did not even glance at Smith, but when they got inside, invited them both to sit down.

Old Nick settled himself on a big birchwood sofa, with soft springs, into which he sank about half a foot deep. Above the sofa hung a picture of the "Cupid" (Captain Prois), with the port of Hull in the background, and all the seamen wearing stovepipe hats.

Old Nick cleared his throat a little, and started off with his introduction, pointing out the meritorious work of his host on the committee during the "considerable span of years" which he had devoted to the service of the community.

Prois sat dumbfounded, at a loss to understand what was coming.

At last, thinking he had sufficiently stimulated the other's curiosity, Old Nick came to the point:

"Consequently, and, I should add, chiefly at the instigation of my friend Smith, as secretary of the said committee, our fellow-citizens have empowered us to request the honour of your presence, my dear Warden, at a ceremonial banquet, to take place on Sat.u.r.day next at 4 p.m., where we may hope to--er--find some suitable expression for our feelings--er, h'm--our appreciation of the fact that you have been for twenty-five years so closely a.s.sociated with this important--this _most_ important of our local inst.i.tutions."

Old Prois flushed slightly, tried to look unmoved, coughed, and finally requested the pair to "take a seat"--which they had already taken--and then rushed out into the pa.s.sage calling in a voice of thunder for "Tulla, Tulla!" Then out to the kitchen, to send the maid to find her.

Meantime Old Nick sat stuffing an embroidered antimaca.s.sar into his mouth, laughing till the cus.h.i.+oned sofa and the picture above shook in dismay. He made faces at Smith, who, however, was not in the mood to appreciate the humour of the situation, which fact seemed further to increase Old Nick's amus.e.m.e.nt.

At last came a voice outside--"Where the deuce have you been, child?

Hurry up and bring in some cakes and wine at once." Old Nick threw the antimaca.s.sar under the sofa, and his face resumed its most serious expression.

"Excuse my running off a moment, gentlemen, but I--er--you must allow me to offer you a gla.s.s of wine, with my best thanks for the invitation. I--er--really, it's too good of you, I must say. I'm sure I haven't done anything special for the place, but--well, since my esteemed fellow-citizens are good enough to think so, why...."

"I'm sure, Warden, your work has been most arduous and most valuable," said Smith, "and as secretary myself, you must allow me to judge." He spoke with some warmth, hearing Tulla approaching with the wine--and indeed the girl was trembling to such a degree that the gla.s.ses rang like a peal of bells.

Smith greeted her somewhat bashfully as she entered, but Old Nick chucked her under the chin in his superior paternal manner, and asked how she had got on at the dance. Thor Smith nudged his friend surrept.i.tiously as a sign to him that the subject was one better left alone.

Old Prois poured out the wine, expressing his thanks for the honour anew, and drank a gla.s.s in the kindliest manner with Smith, the latter flus.h.i.+ng with pleasure. Tulla stood over by the piano, intently occupied in putting her music in order, and wondering what on earth it all meant.

Old Nick was suddenly seized with a fit of coughing, under cover of which he managed to empty his gla.s.s of Muscatel into a flower-pot by the window. Then, catching sight of a hen crossing the courtyard, he developed an enthusiastic interest in Black Minorcas and White Leghorns. Prois, it should be mentioned, was a keen fowl-fancier, and had a whole collection of prize medals from various exhibitions, of which he was particularly proud.

Naturally enough, then, Old Nick had to be shown the fowl-runs, though until that date his fondness for the tribe had been exclusively confined to the table. He and his host accordingly went out together.

This left Thor Smith and his Tulla alone, blessing the Black Minorcas and the White Leghorns impartially, and not forgetting Old Nick; while for the rest, they utilised the opportunity just as other sensible young people in love would, to wit, by settling down in the big sofa and exchanging kisses under the "Cupid," while the men down at the landing-stage chanted their "one ahoy, and two ahoy, and three...." The pile-driver had got to sixteen when they heard Old Nick's voice outside: "Yes, those white-cheeked Leghorns are splendid, really splendid."

And Thor Smith and his Tulla judged it best to wake up from love's young dream.

The Banquet was a magnificent success; Thor Smith's speech for the guest of honour's family being particularly notable for the warmth and earnestness with which it was delivered.

Dessert and the half-bottle of sherry having been disposed of, the general feeling, which had been somewhat dull at first, grew more jovial, and speeches were numerous. The coffee and liqueurs brought the diners to the stage of embraces and a.s.surances of mutual affection. Even Rod and Hansen, the two s.h.i.+pbrokers, who in the ordinary way hated one another cordially whenever one closed a charter more than the other, might be seen drinking together, and a.s.suring all concerned that never were business compet.i.tors on friendlier terms. Here's luck, Rod, and Cheer-oh, Hansen!

Smith and Warden Prois became quite friendly, not to say intimate, in the course of the evening; they sat a little apart, in animated discussion of something or other, but apparently on the best of terms. And they finished up towards morning by drinking eternal brotherhood and embracing each other.

The guest of honour was escorted to his home by such members of the party as were still able to keep their feet; and Old Nick, in a farewell speech, expressed the wish that he, the Warden, might long retain the memory of that evening in his head, which charitable sentiment was greeted with delighted applause.