Dry Fish and Wet Part 8

"It won't do you any harm to hear it again. Where would you have been, or I and the lot of us, in 1875, if Knut G. Holm hadn't got that 150 from C. Henrik Pettersen. Down and under, and that with a vengeance."

"It was very good of Pettersen, I'm sure."

"Pettersen it was; it couldn't have been anyone else. The money was sent anonymously, as you know, the very morning I was thinking of putting up the shutters and giving up for good. Just the money, and a slip of paper, no business heading, only 'Herewith 150, a gift from one who wishes you well.' That was all, no signature, only a cross, or an 'x' or whatever it was, at the foot."

"Only an 'x'?"

"That was absolutely all. I puzzled my brains to think out who the good soul could be, but could never bring it round to anyone but C.

Henrik Pettersen, my old friend. Though it wasn't like him, and that's the truth."

"You mean he was close-fisted generally?"

"He was a business man, my boy, if ever there was one. But we knew each other better than most. I was in the know about his dairy b.u.t.ter at fifty per cent. profit--though the Lord knows I wouldn't say a word against him now he's dead and gone."

"But didn't you ask him straight out if it was he that sent the money?"

"I should think I did. But he was one of those people that won't say more than they want to. I could never make him out myself. He used to just sit there and smile and never say a word, but got me on to talk instead."

"Well, I suppose it couldn't be anyone else?"

"It was him sure enough. He was an old bachelor, and an eccentric sort of fellow, with n.o.body to leave his money to, so it wasn't altogether strange he should send me that little bit of all he'd made, in return for all the yarns I'd told to brighten him up.

Anyway, things took a turn for the better after that, and I pulled round all right, so I've nothing to worry about now, in spite of all you've cost me."

"It wasn't so much, I'm sure. And if only that aerial torpedo of mine had gone right, I'd have paid you back with interest."

"But it went wrong--and so did you, my good sir; and if you talk about sacrifice, why, I think it was sacrifice enough, after I'd thrown away 200 on the wretched thing, to come out myself to the parade ground and see the thing go awry."

"By an unfortunate accident."

"A very fortunate accident, if you ask me, that it didn't come down where we stood, or it might have done for a whole crowd of innocent folk that were simple enough to come out and look."

"I don't know, I'm sure, what you want to drag up that old story again for."

"Because I want you to keep to earth in future. Stay at home--on the mat, if you like it that way."

"Will you help us to go to Paris, or will you not?"

"Honestly, then, I should call it throwing money away to do anything of the sort."

"But if you knew that people who really know something about art considered it absolutely necessary for our future, for the development of our talents as artists, then would you let us go?"

"Competent judges to decide, you mean?"

"If you will, we've both of us faith enough in our calling, and in our future as artists."

"Well, that sounds reasonable enough, I admit."

"You will not accept Mrs. Rantzau's decision alone? She is well known, not only as a teacher of singing herself, but her husband had a great reputation as an author and art critic, so she's heard and seen a great deal. And she said the other day that the little seascape of mine up in the Art Society's place was excellent; the sky in particular was finely drawn, she said."

"I've no doubt she's a very clever woman. I haven't the honour of her acquaintance myself, but I must say I think a great deal of her daughter, in the office here."

"Oh, Betty's just the opposite of her mother--she's no idea of art whatever."

"No, poor child, I dare say she's had quite enough both of poverty and humbug."

"Really, father, I don't think you're justified in saying things like that."

"That may be, my son. But if you two young people are set on making artists of yourselves, why, do. And if you can give me a reasonable guarantee that it's any good trying, why, I won't stand in your way."

"I think we can, then."

And William went up to tell Marie what had pa.s.sed. Holm sat for a while occupied with his own thoughts, and came at last to the conclusion that the children were "artist-mad," and got it badly. He must manage to get hold of this Mrs. Rantzau, and see if she could not be persuaded to use her influence to get these ideas out of their heads--especially now, since her daughter was in the office.

There was a gentle tap at the door. It was little Hans, who stood timidly looking up at him.

"Well, Hans, lad, and how's the music getting on? I hope you've made friends with your teacher?"

He drew the boy over to a seat beside him on the sofa. Hans carefully placed his cap over one knee, for his trousers were torn, and he did not want it to be seen.

"Have you been for your lesson every day?"

"Yes, till the day before yesterday, but then I hurt my hand chopping wood for mother, so I've got to wait a few days till it's well." And he held out one thin little hand, showing two fingers badly bruised and raw.

"Poor little man! I must tell Bramsen to lend you a hand with the chopping."

"And, please, I was to bring you this letter from Mr. Bess; he asked me to take it up to you myself. It's the bill for my lessons, I think," he added quickly, "and he wants the money because of the rent." Hans was well acquainted with such things from his own home life, and having heard the organist and his wife talking about the rent falling due, he at once took it for granted that the case was as urgent then as when his own mother lay awake at nights wondering how to meet a similar payment.

Holm took the letter and read:

"In accordance with your request, I have been giving lessons for some time to little Hans Martinsen, whose gift for music is really surprising. Though I do not consider myself fully qualified to judge the precise value of his talent, I would say, as my personal opinion, that the child shows quite unusual promise. And I am convinced that with skilful and attentive tuition, he could in time become a player of mark.

"I am an old man now, and am not otherwise competent to train such talent as it should be trained, but as a lover of music myself, I beg you to a.s.sist the child; you will find your reward, I'm sure. If I could afford it, I would gladly contribute as far as I was able, but as you know I am not in a position to do so. I will not, however, accept any payment for the lessons given, but should be glad to feel that I have made some little offering myself towards his future."

Holm read the letter through once more.

"Little man, we must send you to Christiania to study there. I'll arrange it all, and you shall have the best teacher that's to be had."

Hans sat twirling his cap, and made no answer.

"Well, Hans, aren't you glad? Wouldn't you like to go on with your music?"

"Yes, but I can't. I can't go away and leave mother; there'll be n.o.body to help her then."

"Don't worry about that, my boy; your mother shall go with you. No more was.h.i.+ng; all she'll need to do will be just to look after you."

"But--how? Mother couldn't go away like that!"

"We'll manage that all right. It's very simple. I'll lend your mother the money, do you see, and then, when you've learnt enough and can play properly yourself, you can pay it back--if you want to, that is."