Part 3

Bramsen's highest ambition in life was to be master of a steamboat; not one of the big vessels that go as far as China, say, or Copenhagen--that, he realised, was out of the question, in view of his large contempt for examinations, mate's certificates and book-learning generally. The goal of his desire, the aim of all his dearest dreams, was a tugboat, a smart little devil of a craft with a proper wheel-house amidships and booms and hawsers aft.

A grand life it would be, to go fussing about up and down the fjord, meeting old acquaintances among the fishermen and pilots--yo, heave ho, my lads! He had often suggested to Andrine that the contents of the savings-bank book might be devoted to the purchase of a tug, but Andrine would cross herself piously, and urge him to combat all temptation and evil inspirations of the sort. Bramsen could not see anything desperately evil in the idea himself; he found it more depressing to think that he should spend the remainder of his days in the stuffy atmosphere of the warehouse on the quay. Was it reasonable, now, for a man like himself to be planted, like a geranium in a flower-pot, among sugar-boxes, flour-sacks, and store-keeping trash?

"Ay, life's a queer old tangle sometimes," murmured Bramsen to himself, "and we've got to make the best of it, I suppose." And he cast a longing glance through the doorway of the shed, at Johnsen, of the tug _Rap_, steaming down the fjord with his tow.

IV

HERMANSEN OF THE BANK

Hermansen was manager of the local bank. He and Knut Holm had never been friends, and though outwardly their relations were to all seeming amicable enough, the attitude of each toward the other was really one of armed neutrality.

The banker was in all things cold, precise and dignified, with a military stiffness of bearing, and devoid of all softer sentiment or feeling.

Entrenched behind his counter at the bank, he would glance frigidly at any bill presented, and if the security appeared to him insufficient, he would hand it back with the remark: "We have no money to-day," though the coffers might be full to bursting.

He was an old bachelor, and Holm was wont to declare that if Hermansen, at the Creation, had been set in Adam's place in the Garden of Eden and found himself alone with Eve, he would have declined to discount any promissory notes of hers, and our planet in consequence have been as uninhabited as the moon.

Hermansen was really quite a good-looking man; his tall, slender figure in tight-fitting coat, his iron-grey hair brushed a little forward on either side of his clean-shaven face, the narrow, close-set lips, combined to give him an appearance of distinction fitted for a member of the diplomatic corps.

He was a smart man of business, not only in the affairs of the bank, but also for his own account. Whenever an opportunity occurred of making money, whether by purchase of real property, bankrupt stock or other means, he was always ready to step in at the most favourable moment. He was generally considered one of the richest men in the town, and could afford to speculate at long sight; he was too wise, however, to give any grounds for the suspicion that he took undue advantage of his position. But, as Holm would say, "he's a devilish sharp nose, all the same; he can smell a coming failure years before the man himself has ever thought of it." And it was Holm's great ambition to get the better of him and make the banker burn his fingers in a way he should remember. But it was no easy matter, and up to now all his attempts in that direction had recoiled upon himself.

There was that affair of the building site behind the Town Hall, for instance; Holm's temper went up to boiling point even now whenever he thought of it.

Hermansen, he knew, had had an eye on the place for years, and Holm was sure that by snapping it up himself he would be able to make a few hundred pounds by selling it again to his rival. Accordingly, when the site was put up for auction, he bought it in himself under the very nose of the banker, and gladly paid five hundred for it, though he knew four hundred would have been nearer the mark.

On the day following the sale he encountered Hermansen in the street.

"Ah, Mr. Holm, so you were left with that site yesterday?"

Aha, thought Holm, he's working up to it already.

"Why, yes, I thought I'd take it. Fine bit of ground, you know, splendid situation--but I'm open to sell, at a reasonable advance, of course."

"Thanks very much--but I'm not a buyer myself. By the way, I suppose you know there's a condition attached to the building: no windows to overlook the Town Hall. That means the frontage will have to be in the little back street behind, on the shady side. H'm, lowers the value of the property, of course. Still, taking it all round, I should say it was quite a fair deal."

Holm stood looking helplessly after him; he had had no idea of any such condition attached, and the thought of his oversight made him furious for months after. The site lay there vacant to this day, a piece of waste ground, with a big open ditch running through it. Vindt, the stockbroker, had named it "Holm's Canal," after a larger and more celebrated piece of water with which Knut Holm had nothing to do. And some ill-disposed person had written to the local paper, complaining of the "stink" which arose from the water in question.

Holm found the office considerably pleasanter and more comfortable since Miss Betty's installation. An outward and visible sign of the change was the vase of fresh flowers which she placed on the desk each morning, showing that even a dusty office might be made to look cheerful and nice.

Already the two of them chatted together as if they had known each other for years, and the relations between master and employee grew more and more cordial.

Holm, of course, was always the one to open conversation; he talked, indeed, at times to such an extent that Betty was obliged to beg him to stop, as she could not get on with her work. This generally led to a pause of a quarter of an hour or so, during which Holm would sit watching her over his glasses while she entered up from daybook to ledger with a certain careless ease. Wonderful, thought Holm to himself, how attractive a fair-haired girl can look when she's dark eyebrows and eyelashes, and those blue eyes. Pity she always keeps her mouth tight shut, and hides her lovely teeth.

He sat lost in contemplation, watching her so intently that she flushed right up to her fair head.

"There's the telephone, Mr. Holm," she said desperately, at last, by way of diverting his attention.

"Thanks very much, but I never use the telephone myself. I don't care to stand there like a fool talking down a tube, and likely as not with half a dozen people listening all over the place. No, thank you, I don't think my special brand of eloquence is suited to the telephone service."

Holm always refused to speak to people on the telephone, possibly because he knew that he often said a good deal without reflection and did not care to have witnesses to it, afterwards. Anyhow, he regarded the telephone as one of the plagues of modern times. "If the devil had offered a prize," he would say, "for the best instrument of bother and annoyance to mankind, that fellow Edison should have got it."

The telephone rang, and Betty went to answer it.

"It's Nilson, the broker, wants to speak to you."

"Ask what it is."

"He says the big Spanish ship that came in the other day with a cargo of salt for Hoeg's is to be sold by auction for bottoming, and he thinks it's to be had at a bargain."

"Right! thanks very much. I'll think about it."

Holm brightened up at the prospect of a deal, and forgot all about Betty, blue eyes, dark lashes, fair hair and all.

"Garner, get hold of Bramsen sharp as ever you can, and tell him to go on board that Spaniard at Hoeg's wharf, and have a thorough look round."

A few minutes later Bramsen himself appeared, breathless with haste.

"I've been on board already, Mr. Holm, pretty near every evening. They've a nigger cook that plays all sorts of dance tunes on a bit of a clay warbler he's got; it's really worth hearing...."

"Yes, yes, but the vessel herself. Is she any good, do you know?"

"Well, not much, I take it, though it doesn't show, perhaps. I talked to the carpenter, and he said her bottom was as full of holes as a rusty sieve; it's only the paint that keeps her afloat. He showed me a queer thing too, that carpenter; I've never seen anything like it."

"What sort of a thing?"

"It was a magic cow, he said, got it in Pensacola. You just wind it up, and it walks along the deck, and lowers its head and says, 'Moo-oh!'"

"What about the upper works?"

"Well, I didn't see the works. But the upper part's just brown hide, stuffed, I suppose."

"Nonsense, man; it's the ship I mean."

"Oh yes--well, she's smart enough to look at, with lashings of paint and gilding and brass fittings everywhere--the Spanish owner's no fool, I'll be bound. Bottoming, indeed; I don't believe a word of it."

"What do you mean?"

"Mean! why,"--Bramsen lowered his voice--"it's just a fake, if you ask me, to make folk think they've got an easy bargain."

"Anyone else been on board looking round?"

"Yes. Skipper Heil was there all day yesterday."

"Heil? Wasn't he skipper of Hermansen's _Valkyrie_?"

"That's it! And I'm pretty sure 'twas Hermansen sent him down to look."

"Bramsen, listen to me. Not a word to a soul of what you know about the ship; you've got to be dumb as a doorpost. If anyone asks, you can tell them in confidence that I sent you to look over her, and not a word more, you understand?"

"Right you are, Mr. Holm. But you're not thinking of going in for the business yourself?"

"You leave that to me."

"Very good, Mr. Holm."

When Bramsen was gone, Holm strode up and down the office deep in thought.

"I wonder, now, if we couldn't manage to nail old Hermansen there. H'm. It's risky, but I must have a try at it all the same."

He put on his hat, and continued his sentry-go up and down, with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Already he saw in his mind's eye the Spaniard hauled up to the repair shops, and plate after plate taken out of her bottom, till only the superstructure remained. And finally, he himself, as representative of the concern, would go up to the bank and present a bill for the repairs--a bill running into three--four--five figures!

He fairly tingled at the thought of that bill. Seven-sixteenth-inch plates, re-riveting, frame-pieces and all the various items Lloyds could hit upon as needful.

It was no easy matter to work out a plan of operations on the spur of the moment. But there was no time to be lost. It was Wednesday already, and the ship was to be put up for auction on the Friday.

First of all, he must go on board himself, openly, as a prospective buyer. This, he knew, would be at once reported to Hermansen, who would have his intelligence department at work.

On Thursday afternoon, then, Holm boarded the Spaniard accordingly, and went over the vessel thoroughly in the hope that Hermansen would get a report that he, Holm, was keenly interested.

Early Friday morning he went down again, and was climbing up the ladder on the port side, but on glancing over the bulwarks he perceived the clean-shaven face of the banker, who was just coming on board from the opposite side.

Holm's first impulse was to bundle off again quickly, but in stepping down, he managed to tread on Bramsen's fingers, eliciting a howl which brought the whole crew hurrying along to see what was the matter. There was nothing for it now but to go on board, which he did, nodding in the friendliest fashion to Hermansen as he came up.

"We're competitors, then, it seems," said the banker politely.

"I think not," said Holm seriously. "She's very badly built, and I don't feel like going in for it myself."

"Yes? I dare say," answered the banker, with a sidelong glance at Holm, who appeared to be scrutinising the upper rigging.

"The fore and aft bulkheads are shaky too," said Holm, well knowing that these were as good as could be. Indeed, had the rest been up to the same standard, the vessel would have been worth buying.

Hermansen walked forward, and Holm went aft. On completing the round, they came face to face once more.

"Bottom's not up to much, from what I hear," remarked Holm casually, as he climbed over the rail on his way down.

"Very possible--very possible." There was a slight vibration in the banker's voice as he spoke, and Holm judged that things were going to be as he wished.

The auction was fixed for one o'clock, and Holm was there punctually to the moment. Hermansen was nowhere to be seen. "Funny," thought Holm to himself. "I hope to goodness he hasn't smelt a rat."

The conditions of sale were read; the bidding to be understood as in agreement therewith.

At last the banker appeared, and sat down unobtrusively in a corner. His presence always made itself felt in any gathering, as imparting a certain solemnity to the occasion. Holm, who had been chatting gaily with the magistrate and Advocate Schneider, sat down quietly.

"Well, gentlemen, to business. The frigate, _Don Almariva_, is offered for sale to the highest bidder, subject to the conditions just read. What offers?"

"2000," said Holm. A long pause followed.

"2000 offered, 2000. Any advance on 2000.... Come, gentlemen...."

Holm began to feel uneasy.

"2050." It was the banker's sonorous voice.

"2200," snapped out Holm, on the instant.

"2250," from the corner, a little more promptly than before.

"2400," Holm was there again at once.

Matters were getting critical now: Holm sat looking steadily in front of him, not daring to look round. The minutes were uncomfortably long, he felt as if he were on a switchback, or in the throes of approaching sea-sickness.

"2400--two thousand four hundred pounds offered, gentlemen. Any advance on 2400? 2400, going----"

Holm was on the verge of apoplexy now. What if he should have to present that bill for repairs to himself, after all?

Skipper Heil moved over to Hermansen and whispered in his ear. All were turned towards the pair--all save Holm, who sat as before, stiff as a statue in his place, looking rigidly before him.

The auctioneer stood with his hammer raised, his eyes on the banker in his corner.

"Going--going----"

"2500," said the banker. At last!

Holm gave a start as if something had pricked him behind, and looked across with a curious expression at Hermansen, who sat as impassive as ever.

The hammer fell. Holm went across to the banker, raised his hat and bowed. "Congratulations, my dear sir; the vessel's yours. A little faulty in the bottom, as I mentioned before, but still, taking it all round, _I should say it was quite a fair deal_!"

Holm went out into the street, and, meeting Bramsen, who had been present out of curiosity, took him by the shoulders and shook him. "Bramsen, my boy, I've got him this time. Hermansen's let himself in for it with a vengeance!"

"Lord, Mr. Holm, but you gave me a fright before it was over. I don't believe I've ever been in such a tremble all my sinful life--unless it was the time I jumped across old Weismann's bull."

"Weismann's bull? What was that?"

"Why, it was one day I was standing outside the warehouse as innocent as a babe unborn, filling up a herring barrel, and before I knew where I was there was a great beast of a bull rushing down on me at full gallop. They'd been taking him down to the slaughter-house, and he'd broke away. Well, I couldn't get into the barrel, seeing it was more than half full as it was, and there wasn't time to get across to the sheds; the brute's horns were right on top of me, like a huge great pitchfork, and I reckoned Paal Abrahamsen's days were numbered. And then suddenly I got a revelation. I took a one--two--three, hop and a jump, and just as the beast thought he'd got me on the nail, up I went with an elegant somersault and landed clean astride of him, as neat as a--as an equidestrian statue."

"But how did you get down again?"

"Why, that was as easy as winking, seeing he flung me off and down Mrs. Brekke's cellar stairs, so I felt it a fortnight after."

On his way down to the office, Holm met a number of people who were all anxious to know who had bought the Spaniard. Holm was at no pains to uphold _Don Almariva's_ reputation. When Nilsen the broker came up to congratulate him on his supposed purchase, he exclaimed: "Not me, my lad! Why, she's full of holes as a rusty sieve." And he walked off, singing:

"He needs be something more than bold, Who'd fill his purse with Spanish gold."

Altogether, it was a red-letter day for Knut Holm. And on entering the office he confided to Betty that he had paid Banker Hermansen in full for that matter of the building site. He told her, also, how he and the banker had been secretly at war for years past, confessing frankly that up to now the honours had been with the other side.

It was Hermansen who had hindered his election to the Town Council, and possibly afterwards to parliament; all along he had barred his way--until now. And to-day, at last, the wind had changed, he had gained his first victory; now perhaps the banker's fortunes would begin to wane, in the town and farther afield--for he was a man of some influence in the country generally.

Holm stood at first bent slightly over the desk, but as he talked, and his enthusiasm increased, he drew himself up, a figure of such power and energy that Betty felt the banker would need to be well equipped indeed to outdo him. She grew more and more interested as he went on, following him with her eyes, until he came over to her and said: "I don't mind telling you, Miss Betty, it's not only Banker Hermansen, but the whole pack of them in the town here, that shrugged their shoulders and laughed behind my back at everything I did.

"Yes, and I've felt it, too, you may be sure, though I didn't show it. I've been cheerful and easy-going all along, and, thanks to that, I can say I've done two things at least: I've pleased my friends and vexed my enemies!

"And then the children upstairs, they've never really understood me; just looked on me as a sort of automatic machine for laying golden eggs. Lord, but I'd like to put their nose out of joint one day, the whole lot of them--make them take off their hats and look up to see where Knut G. Holm had got to."

He tried to take her hand, but she drew it back sharply, and with a blush retreated behind the shelter of her books.

"You think I'm a queer sort, don't you?"

"Not that, Mr. Holm. I was thinking you're a strong man. I've always longed to meet men that were not afraid to face the real hard things of life."

"You're right in that; one doesn't often find a man who's ready to risk anything really for his own convictions. It's easy enough to get into one's shell and rub along comfortably in flannel and carpet slippers, to shout with the crowd and agree politely to all that's said, be generally amiable and popular accordingly--but it's too cramped and stifling for me. I must have room to breathe, if I have to get out in the cold to do it."

He strode through into the shop, and she heard him talking to Garner about having the whole of the premises altered now, lighter and brighter, with big plate-glass windows, and the floor sunk to make it loftier.

Betty sat for a long while thinking deeply over what Holm had said. Several times she turned to her books, but only to fall back into the same train of thought; somehow it was impossible to work to-day.

A strange man, he was, indeed, and she did not quite like his being so confidential towards her. But an honest heart, of that she felt sure, and a man one could not help liking and helping as far as one could. Holm came into the office a little while after, and found it empty. Betty had gone. He stood awhile by her desk, then picked up the glass with the yellow roses in, and smelt them.

"Women, women"--he looked at the roses--"these little trifles are the weapons that count. H'm. Now would it be so strange after all if I did marry again? There's not much comfort to be looked for upstairs as things are now--and she's a clever girl as well as pretty. The youngsters, of course, would make no end of fuss, but I'd have to put up with that."

Just then William came in, smoking a cigarette.

"Wanted to speak to you, father."

"Right you are, my boy! speak away!"

"Well, it's like this. Marie and I, we can't go on as we have been doing lately."

Holm turned quickly. "You mean to say you're going to turn over a new leaf?"

"I mean, we must get away from here. Marie's budding talent will never thrive here, and I--I shall grow stale if I don't get away soon. We want to travel."

"I see--well, travel along with you then; don't mind me."

"We want to go to Paris. Mrs. Rantzau, who is herself a distinguished artist, says it's the only thing for us, to go to Paris and complete our education. There is no hope of developing one's talents in a place like this--they simply wither and die."

"Ah, that would be a pity."

"Father, you must let us go. Don't you think yourself, you ought to make some little sacrifice for your only son?"

"You think I haven't done enough? Wasn't it for your sake I married your foster-mother? Haven't I thrown away hundreds of pounds on your miserable education as you call it, and your fantastic inventions in the engineering line that never came to anything? I could ill spare the money at the time, I can assure you."

"Oh, now I suppose we're to have the old story over again, with the L150."

"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 L150 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 L150, 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 butter 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 nobody 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 L200 on the wretched thing, to come out myself to the parade ground and see the thing go awry."