Part 17

Hardly had Soren settled down to his well-earned rest, when, only four days after the vessel had sailed, came a telegram from Hull announcing her arrival and awaiting orders. That meant wiring off at once to the brokers in Drammen and Christiania asking for freights. The telegraph, indeed, was kept so busy, that old Anders the messenger declared the wretched steamboat gave more work than anyone had a right to expect. Now and again, at weddings and suchlike, it was only natural to have a few extra telegrams going and coming; but, then, he would take them round in bundles at a time, and be handsomely treated into the bargain. Whereas this--why, he'd hardly as much as got back from delivering one wire to Soren Braaten, when a new one came in, and off he'd have to go again. And a man couldn't even stroll round with them at his ordinary pace; it was always "urgent" or "express," or something of the sort, that sent him hurrying off as if the wind were at his heels.

And as for being handsomely treated! It was a thankless task if ever there was one. When Anders appeared with his seventh wire in one day, Soren almost flew at him. "What, you there again with more of those infernal telegram things!"

Soren Braaten had had more telegrams the last fortnight than in all his life before; and, worst of all, they were so briefly worded, it took him all his time to make out the sense. If things went on at this rate he would very soon be wanting another cure at Sandefjord, and this time in earnest.

There was never any rest, this steamer of his flew about at such a rate; just when you thought she was in England she'd be somewhere down the Mediterranean or the Black Sea. Soren said as much to his old friend Skipper Sorensen, who answered: "Better be careful, lad, or she'll run so fast one day she'll run away with all your money." And Soren was anxious about that very thing, for the remittance seemed to him rather small in comparison with the length of voyage involved.

Soren found himself at last hopelessly at sea both as to charters and accounts, and confided to Cilia one day that he was going to throw up the whole thing; as far as he was concerned, "the wretched boat can manage itself."

Cilia thought over the matter seriously. Her first idea was to take over the chartering herself, but when Soren began talking about freight from Wolgast to Salonica, and Rouen to Montechristi, her geography failed her.

Fixing the old _Apollo_ or _Birkebeineren_ for voyages in the Baltic or the North Sea was easy enough. Cilia knew the name of every port from Pitea to Vlaardingen, from London to Kirkwall, but outside the English Channel she was lost.

The end of it was that Soren went in to Christiania and got a broker he knew there to take over the business, and glad he was to get rid of it. The week after, he went on board _Birkebeineren_, rigged her up, and sailed with a cargo of planks to Amsterdam. Even though he made little out of it beyond his keep, it was nicer than sitting at home in a state of eternal worry about the steamer.

"It pays better than the savings bank, anyway," said Cilia, when he grumbled.

"Maybe; but it's a wearisome business all the same, this steam chartering. And we've other things to think about but what pays best."

And off he went on board his own old-fashioned _Birkebeineren_.

XIX

NILS PETTER'S LEGACY

The news ran like wildfire through the town: Nils Petter Jorgensen had been left a million gylden by his wife's uncle in Holland. It was true as could be; Justice Heidt had had a letter from the Queen to say so.

"Jantje!" roared Nils Petter out into the wash-house, where his wife stood in a cloud of steam and soapsuds.

"What is it, husband?" Jantje appeared in the doorway, little, stout and smiling, with her sleeves rolled up and the perspiration thick on her forehead.

"Come into the parlour a minute."

"Oh, I haven't time now, husband. There's the washing to be done."

"Oh, bother the washing! We've done with all that now," said Nils Petter loftily. And, thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, he strode stiffly in, followed by Jantje.

"Jantje, sit down on the sofa. Ahem ... er ... an event has occurred..."

"Have they made you captain, husband; you have got a ship? We can go to Holland together, is it not?" Jantje clapped her hands together, and looked at him expectantly. Poor Jantje had never seen her native land since the day she sailed away on board the _Eva Maria_, and still felt strange in Norway, speaking the language with difficulty as she did.

"We're rich, Jantje; we're millionaires, that's what it is."

Jantje turned serious at once; her first thought was that Nils Petter must have taken a drop too much--a thing that rarely happened now since he had been married.

"Don't you think you'd better lie down a little, husband?" she said quietly, pointing to the bedroom.

"Oho, you think I've been drinking? Well, here's the letter from the Justice; you can see for yourself."

Jantje took the letter and studied it intently, but could not make out a word of what it said.

"Your Uncle Peter van Groot died in Java last year, and left millions of gylden, and no children----"

"Praise the Lord!" exclaimed Jantje.

"And all those millions are ours now, seeing we're the nearest heirs since your mother and father died."

"Poor Uncle Pit--kind old Uncle Pit," sighed Jantje, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then, rising to her feet, she went on: "If that's all, husband, then I'll go and finish the washing."

"Washing, now? No, you don't, Jantje. Off with you at once and put on the finest you've got: your green dress and the coral brooch."

"But the things will be spoiled in the water, husband."

"Never mind; let them. Hurry up and get dressed now."

Jantje went off to dress, but not before she had slipped out into the wash-house, wrung out the wet things and hung them up to dry.

Nils Petter put on his best blue suit, a starched shirt with collar and cuffs, a black tie and stiff hat.

Then Jantje appeared, wearing her green dress, her face all flushed and aglow with hurrying.

The pair sat for a moment looking at one another.

"Jantje!"

"Yes, husband?"

"What shall we do with it all?"

Such a question from Nils Petter was too much for Jantje all at once. She looked helplessly round the room as if seeking for somewhere to put it.

"It's a question what to do with any amount of capital these days. Shipowning's a risky business...." Nils Petter paced up and down thoughtfully.

Then Jantje had an inspiration. "Husband, there's the big clothes-chest, room for lots of money in that." And she hurried out into the passage and began dragging out the chest.

"No, no, Jantje; leave it alone. The money'll have to be put in the bank, of course. We can't keep it in the house."

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" It was Watchmaker Rordam. "Congratulations, my boy. Grand piece of luck, what? Must be strange-like, to get all that heap of money at once."

"Well, ye-es," said Nils Petter; "it's a trouble to know what to do with one's capital, though; these savings banks pay such a miserable rate of interest." Jantje looked at him in surprise. Why, only a fortnight ago, when he had had to renew a bill at the bank, he had declared loudly against the "pack of Jews" for charging too high a rate.

"You won't forget your old friends, Nils Petter, I hope, now that you've come into a fortune," said Rordam.

"Trust me for that, lad," said Nils Petter. "I haven't forgotten how you helped me out when I was near being sold up; I owe you something for that. Being thankless towards friends that lent a hand when times were hard is a bad mark in the register and the sign of an unseaworthy character, and it shan't be said of Nils Petter Jorgensen." And he gripped Rordam's hand emphatically.

"Well, now, what do you say to a drink?"

"Not for me, thanks," answered Rordam. "I've--I've given it up," he added, not without some reluctance.

"Don't mind if I have one?"

"No, indeed."

"Jantje, give me a drop of Hollands. It's a plaguy business thinking out how to invest big sums of money."

Rordam had never had any experience of that sort of business, but thought he would not mind a little trouble, given the occasion.

Nils Petter drank off his glass. Rordam stuck to his refusal bravely, which so won Nils Petter's admiration that he bought of the watchmaker a splendid clock, costing five pounds, an elegant piece of work with a marble face and gilt lions above. Furthermore, on leaving, Rordam was given a piece of paper with the following words:

"Mr. Watchmaker Rordam to receive L50--fifty pounds--when I get the legacy.

"N. P. JORGENSEN."

This last was a gratuity, which Nils Petter felt he ought to give for old friendship's sake.

Rordam was delighted; at last he would be able to pay off the many little odd debts that had been worrying him for years past.

Hardly had Rordam gone when Schoolmaster Pedersen came in, bringing a large oleander as a present for Jantje.

Nils Petter and the schoolmaster had never been very friendly, holding different political opinions; Nils Petter especially waxed furious whenever he saw Pedersen's anti-Swedish flag hoisted in the garden. A couple of years ago he had gone in and cut it down, but the matter was, fortunately, smoothed over, Pedersen being an easy-going man, while his wife and Jantje were very good friends.

"I just looked in, my dear Jorgensen, to see if you'd any use for a secretary. A man in your position, of course, will have any amount of writing and bookkeeping work, and you know I'd be glad to make a little extra myself."

Nils Petter was not much of a scholar. The few occasions when he had to use a pen caused him no little difficulty; his big, unaccustomed fingers gripped the pen-holder as if it were a crowbar.

"Why, I dare say I might.... And what would you want a year for that?"

"I'd leave that to you."

"Would L200 be enough?"

Pedersen jumped up in delight and almost embraced Nils Petter. "It's too much, Jorgensen, really."

"It won't be too much; there'll be a deal of work to do. But I forgot, one thing you'll have to do: get rid of that beastly flag of yours."

Pedersen turned serious. "The Norwegian flag is our national emblem, and that alone. As a true patriot, I must stand by my convictions. Norway...."

Nils Petter broke in angrily. "Norway, Norway! There's a sight too much of that if you ask me. I've sailed with the good old Union flag round the Horn and the Cape of Good Hope as well, and it's been looked up to everywhere. You can take and sew in the Swedish colours again, if you want the place--not but what the old flag's handsome enough," he added in a somewhat gentler tone.

Pedersen thought this rather hard; but L200 a year was not to be sneezed at, and, after all, there were limits to what could be reasonably demanded of a patriot. He was accordingly appointed private secretary, on condition that the Union colours be included in his flag forthwith, and set off home rejoicing. And feeling that he could now afford a little jollification, he bought a joint of beef, a bottle of wine, and a bag of oranges for the children.

Later in the day Bernt Jorgensen came round; he, too, had heard of the wonderful legacy.

"You'll need to be careful now, with all that money, Nils Petter; a fortune's not a thing to be frittered away."

"Trust me for that, brother. And you shall have a share of it too, for you've been a good sort. I will say, though, a trifle on the saving side at times, but never mind that now. Look here, Bernt, would you care to sell the _Eva Maria_?"

Bernt Jorgensen was so astonished at this sudden changing front that he hardly knew what to say. Hitherto Nils Petter had always been deferential and respectful towards him; now, however, he seemed to be adopting an air of lordly condescension.

"Well, what do you say?"

"Sell you the _Eva Maria_! Well, it'd mean a lot of money for you, Nils Petter."

"Oh, that's all right. I've got plenty."

Bernt Jorgensen would not decide all at once, but wanted time to think it over.

During the next few days Nils Petter was inundated with visitors, and Jantje was kept busy all the time making fresh coffee in her best green dress, which caused her not a little anxiety, lest it should be soiled. Nils Petter told her not to worry; she would get a new one. But it was not Jantje's way to be careless with things.

Various speculators came offering properties for sale in various parts of the country, producing such masses of documents that Pedersen, as secretary, had his work cut out to find room for them in the parlour.

By way of finding a ship for his friend Thoresen, Trina's husband, Nils Petter had purchased the brig _Cupid_ from Governor Abrahamsen for L500, also the Sorgenfri estate, situated a little way out of the town. This latter property, with a fine two-storeyed house looking out on the fjord, ran him into something like L1200. In each case it was stipulated that "the purchase money shall be paid in cash as soon as my inheritance from Holland is made over."

N. P. Jorgensen and his secretary had both been up to view the Sorgenfri estate, and were very pleased with it on the whole. They agreed, however, that some alterations would have to be made, such as laying out a park, with fish-pond, and building a skittle-alley, which last Nils Petter was especially keen on, having been greatly devoted to that form of sport in his youth.

Then came a number of letters addressed to "N. P. Jorgensen, Esquire," during this time.

His old friend, Shipbroker Rothe of Arendal, was forming a company to acquire a big steamer for the China trade, which was to give at least 30 to 40 per cent. He wanted only L3000 to complete, and invited Nils Petter, for old acquaintance's sake, to take up shares to that amount.

"Good fellow, is old Rothe," said Nils Petter to his secretary. "I used to have a drink with him every evening when I was up there with the old _Spesfides_ for repairs. We went in for our mates' certificate together, too. Write and say I'll take shares for the L3000; that'll put him right."

It was late in the evening most days before Nils Petter and his secretary had got through the day's correspondence, and Nils Petter, who was accustomed to turn in about eight or nine o'clock, was so tired and sleepy that he wanted to leave everything as it was; but Pedersen was zealous in his work, and declared it was the first essential of a business man to answer letters promptly.

There was no help for it; Nils Petter was obliged to sit up, wading through all sorts of documents, company prospectuses, particulars of house property, mines, steamships, etc. etc. Secretary Pedersen left nothing unconsidered. Nils Petter all but fell asleep in his chair. And when at last he got to bed he would lie tossing and talking in his sleep, till Jantje had to get up and put cold water bandages on his head. Every morning he shuddered at the thought of that day's burdens, especially when the postman came tramping up with bundles of letters and circulars, one bigger than another.

Jantje and Nils Petter sat drinking their coffee in the kitchen, one each side of the table in front of the hearth. This was the best time of the day, Nils Petter thought; he could take it easy as in the old days, sitting in his shirt sleeves, and caring nothing for letters and investments.

Jantje, too, liked this way best; she was always uncomfortable when she had to put on her green dress.

The coffee-pot was puffing like a little steam-engine on the hob, and Jantje was cutting the new bread into good thick slices.

"Jantje!"

"Yes, husband; what is it?"

"Seems to me we were a good deal better off before we got all this money."

"Ay, that's true, that's true."

"And I don't somehow feel like moving up to Sorgenfri--it's nice and comfortable here."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, husband. I'm so glad. I'd never feel happy away from here."

Nils Petter and Jantje had one great regret--they had no children. They had often talked of adopting one. The question cropped up again now. Jantje had heard that Skipper Olsen's widow had just died, leaving a four-year-old boy with no one to look after him but the parish; they decided, therefore, to take him and bring him up as their own. Jantje busied herself making preparations, and Nils Petter, disregarding Pedersen's insistence, flatly refused to be bothered with letters just now; he too had things to do about the house, getting ready for the boy.

The news soon spread that little Rasper Olsen was to be adopted by Nils Petter. Had ever a poor orphan such a stroke of luck! They called him the millionaire boy.

When at last Jantje came in, leading the little fellow by the hand, Nils Petter's delight knew no bounds; he laughed and sang, and lifted the pretty, chubby lad and held him out at arm's length.

The boy took to Jantje at once, and when he began to call her "Mama," she wept with joy, and had to run and find Nils Petter that he might hear it too. He tried to get the child to call him "Papa," but here he was disappointed; Rasper would not call him anything but "Nils Petter," as he had heard everybody else do.

The first night, one of the richest heirs in the country slept in a washing-basket, to the great delight of Nils Petter, who amused himself swinging basket and boy together over his head till the child fell asleep.

Nils Petter was getting altogether unreasonable, so at least his secretary thought. He declined altogether to go to the office now, and went out fishing in his boat instead. And Jantje put on her old house frock again and stood over wash-tub just as before.

"Extraordinary people," said Pedersen. "Really, it's a pity to see all this money thrown away on folk with no idea of how to use it."

And indeed Nils Petter and Jantje gradually were fast slipping back to their old way of life. All Pedersen's arguments and entreaties could not persuade them to move out to Sorgenfri and take up a position suited to their means. In vain the schoolmaster urged "the duties involved by possession of worldly wealth, responsibilities towards society in general," and so on; Nils Petter cared not a jot for anything of the sort; he was going to live his own way, and the rest could go hang.

One day Justice Heidt came round, and asked to speak to Nils Petter privately.

"There we are again," grumbled Nils Petter; "more about that wretched money, I'll be bound."

"I am sorry to say," began the Justice, "I have bad news for you about this legacy business--very bad news indeed."

"Well, I've had nothing but trouble about it from the start," said Nils Petter, "so a little more won't make much difference."

"The legacy in question proves to be considerably less than was at first understood--in fact, I may say the amount is altogether insignificant."

"Well, it'll be something anyway, I suppose?" Nils Petter felt he ought to have a little at least for all his trouble.

"I have a cheque here for 760 gylden, and that, I am sorry to say, is all there is."

"Well, to tell the truth, Justice, I'm not sorry to hear it. I've been that pestered and worried with this legacy business, I'll be glad to see the last of it."

Nils Petter went round to the bank and changed his cheque; it came to 1140 crowns. Of this Pedersen received 200 for his secretarial work, Rordam another 200, the remainder was put in the bank as a separate account for little Rasper. Nils Petter and Jantje were glad to be rid of Sorgenfri, the brig, and the postman. The last named, it is true, still brought an occasional letter for "N. P. Jorgensen, Esquire," but Nils Petter never bothered to look at them.

And when Nils Petter set little Rasper on his shoulders and asked: "Which would you rather have, a million or a thrashing?" the boy invariably answered, "Thrashing," at which Nils Petter would laugh till it could be heard half-way down the street.

XX

THE ADMIRAL

Some people seem to have the privilege of being as rude and ill-mannered as they please. They are generally to be found among those whose superior share of this world's goods enables them to lord it over the little circle in which they move.

They may be compared to bumble-bees that rarely sting, and only upon provocation. Ordinarily, they are very harmless, and for my part I much prefer a bumble-bee to the dainty and delicate mosquitoes that look so innocent, as they smilingly perforate the epidermis of a fellow-creature with a thousand little stabs.

"The Admiral" was a big bumble-bee. As a young officer in the navy he had been a reckless blade, and, having gained the rank of lieutenant, was obliged to leave the service for some piece of insubordination. He then entered the navy of a minor eastern power, where his dominant qualities of impudence and unscrupulousness were appreciated to such a degree that he rose to the rank of Admiral. Hence the title. It was stated that he "flogged niggers and shot down cannibals," without the formality of trial by jury--or indeed any formality at all.

Thanks to the Admiral's zeal, the two gunboats which constituted the navy in question were kept in excellent order, but as the four guns of the combined fleet enabled him to command the capital, including the government, he became a trifle over-bearing.

One day, when the King came on board to pay a visit of inspection, with his two wives, the Admiral declared that he would keep the younger lady for himself, a wife being one of the items lacking in the inventory on board. The King, as a good husband, naturally declined to entertain the idea. Had it been the elder of the two, the matter might perhaps have been discussed, but as the Admiral stubbornly insisted on taking the younger, the parties exchanged words, and, ultimately, blows. This stage having been reached, the Admiral took his sovereign by the scruff of the neck, and his queen by the stern, and heaved the pair of them overboard. Fortunately the gunboat was not far off shore, and their majesties, who could swim like fishes, made straight for land. But the waters thereabouts are infested with sharks, and they were forced to put on full speed to escape with their lives.

The Admiral and the younger consort stood on the deck of the gunboat, watching the august swimmers with interest through a glass.

The King, having scrambled ashore, stalked solemnly up to his palm-shack palace, clenched his fist and shook it violently at the Admiral, vociferating "schandalous." This was a word he had learned from a German Jew, who traded in glass beads, and adorned his notepaper and visiting-cards with the inscription:

"By Royal Warrant to His Majesty the King of Zumba-Lumba."

Now the King knew nothing of revolution, not even the name, and there was not a bolshevik to be found in all his dominions. Nevertheless, he felt instinctively that the Admiral's behaviour was an outrage against the supreme authority vested in himself by right divine.

But what could he do against the Admiral and his four guns? Of the four hundred warriors that composed his army, only about half were armed with muskets of an ancient type, procured by the Admiral himself in days gone by. And the ammunition amounted to practically nil, the Admiral having been far-sighted enough to store most of the cartridges on board the gunboats, serving out a small allowance now and then to the King and his army, wherewith to keep lions and tigers at a respectful distance from the huts of the capital.

The King thought over the matter for quite a while, and at last sent for one of his numerous brothers-in-law. Here, as in other kingdoms, the family relationship was a most useful factor, providing a kind of mutual insurance in support of the throne.