CHAPTER VI

THE CAPITAL

Erik left for Stockholm. When he was gone, Greta missed him sadly. She missed his happy singing.

Now the only songs she heard were the Baron's laments and her mother's pleading, "When are you going to set your wedding date, Greta?"

To the Baron she replied as sympathetically as she could. To her mother she continued to answer, "Give me a little more time."

At last, however, both Fru Hansson and the Baron began to be annoyed. They wanted to send out wedding invitations. They could not understand why Greta kept delaying the wedding date. And poor Greta realized that she could not delay it much longer, that she must soon give in.

Erik, however, had not forgotten his decision to ask help of Herr Banker. He was, in fact, going that very evening to Herr Banker's home in Stockholm. But all day long, he and his schoolmates were busy sightseeing in the historic city.

A few wore the costumes of their province, which made a colorful picture as they tramped along the cobblestone streets. Stockholm is seven centuries old, yet her age has not made her in the least old-fashioned.

Her town hall is one of the most famous modern buildings in Europe. It stands with its copper head in the blue sky, and its feet in Lake Mälar (=mâ´lar=), bowing in the water to a reflection of the two-hundred-year-old royal palace.

Once during the day, Erik attempted to telephone Herr Banker. A telephone was a new and exciting experience to him. The operator said that she would get his number "in the wink of an eye," just as our operators might have said, "in a minute."

But Herr Banker was busy and could not talk with Erik. So, that evening, after asking his teacher's permission, he went to Herr Banker's home.

It was a clear, beautiful night. The twinkling lights of the town blinked into the many waterways. There were a hundred little islands, and the harbors were filled with ships that sailed to all ports of the world.

Some of them carried cargoes of silver birch logs--fuel for the city. The word, "Stockholm," means "Isle of the Log," but the "Isle of the Log" is built of granite.

At Herr Banker's home, the butler informed Erik that a large dinner party was taking place. Erik stood in the elaborate hall and heard the voices of guests from the dining room.

He could smell the delicious food and see a corner of the "sandwich table" (smörgasbord), which starts off every meal in Sweden. There were all kinds of cheeses and cold meats, breads, and delicacies of every variety.

The butler told him that it would be impossible for him to see Herr Banker now, but Erik begged to be announced. The butler scowled at him and disappeared. Erik hoped that the man would deliver his message.

Perhaps the butler would return and repeat that Herr Banker could not be disturbed. If so, he would have to leave Stockholm without seeing Herr Banker.

He must see Herr Banker tonight. It was important to Greta and to Fru Hansson and to Nils.

Off the hallway was a drawing-room. It adjoined the dining room. Erik tiptoed in.

On one side was a huge, stone fireplace. So huge was it that it might easily hide a person, especially a small boy. And when the butler returned, without having announced Erik to his master, there was no small boy in sight.

Crouched in his hiding place, Erik waited patiently. The dinner was long, but at last he heard the guests thanking their host and hostess, and he knew it was over.

The ladies filed into the drawing-room, and Erik held his breath with wonder at the beauty of their gowns and jewels. They were almost as lovely as the many flowers which decorated the room and which were delivered to the house as regularly as the groceries.

The gentlemen now entered. Herr Banker began to talk with an attractive, dark-haired lady, addressing her as Fru Minister Steinhardt.

In Sweden it is proper to use a person's full title, and this lady was the wife of the American ambassador. Erik's only knowledge of that vast country across the sea came through letters from his uncle, who had settled there.

He lived in a state called Minnesota. He wrote that it was almost as full of Swedes as Sweden. Half the farms were owned by Scandinavians, who had also had much to do with the building of a big American city called Minneapolis.

Herr Banker was laughing and joking and seemed in a good humor. But suddenly Erik wondered whether he would continue to be in a good humor if he knew that Erik was hiding in the fireplace. He might become very angry, and then he would not listen to Erik's plea.

A terrible fear came over Erik. What had he done?

Just then, Herr Banker announced that there was to be a musicale. He introduced the first entertainer. She was a singer.

As Erik listened to the clear, sweet voice, he forgot his fear. The melodies delighted him, and when the singer began a folk song which Greta had taught him, Erik began to sing with her.

Gradually, and unknown to himself, his voice rose higher. And so high did it finally rise, that at the end of the song, it was as loud as the singer's.

There was silence in the room. Everybody looked at the fireplace. Everybody's eyes puzzlingly searched for the unseen owner of that mysterious voice behind the fire screen.

Herr Banker said, "This is like a ghost story," and he walked over to the other side of the room. "Come out," he commanded, "whoever you are."

And Erik came out. He was covered with soot. He was black and mussed and soiled. He looked like a frightened little chimney sweep. He was on the verge of tears.

"What does this mean?" Herr Banker demanded. "What are you doing there, child?"

"Hiding," said Erik. His voice was choked. "I had to see you, Herr Banker. I had to! It was so important."

"You are the boy who promised never to sing again to annoy people. I remember you," said Herr Banker.

"Oh, I know, sir!" Erik's lips were trembling. "But when I heard the beautiful music, I could not help it. I forgot everything but the song."

Herr Banker put his hand on Erik's shoulder, and now he smiled. "Never mind," he said. "Perhaps, after all, my guests were not annoyed. Perhaps they even liked your singing!" He turned to the company. "Would you care to hear Erik sing again?"

Hearty applause answered this question.

So Erik sang. And, though his face was streaked with soot and tears, and his little costume sadly wrinkled, his audience seemed to forget it. Because his voice appeared to bring a great, light happiness to their hearts and to make their eyes see dimly.

When he had finished, it might have been noticed that several ladies took handkerchiefs out of handbags, while quite a few gentlemen were coughing. Yet none had colds.

Herr Banker told Erik to follow him into another room. When they were alone, he asked, "What is your name, child?" Erik wondered why his voice shook.

"It is Erik Lindgren," answered the boy.

"Erik Lindgren," repeated Herr Banker. "That name may some day be known to all the world."

He blew his nose. "Jenny Lind was a child like you," he continued, "and she lived in Sweden, too. One day she was heard singing a lullaby to her cat, and from that time on, a great opera house became her home. She grew up to be one of the best singers in all the world, and they called her 'the Swedish Nightingale.'"

Erik's eyes suddenly blazed with anger, and he threw back his head. "I am not a girl!" he cried. "I'm a boy and shall some day be a sea captain or--or a warrior!"

He looked very fierce, and Herr Banker laughed.

"No, no, Erik," he said. "Never a warrior! Ours is a peaceful land, remember. A sea captain, perhaps. But--" He sat down on the sofa and drew Erik toward him, saying, "Tell me why you came to see me, child. What can I do for you?"

He listened kindly as Erik told his story, ending, "And so, Herr Banker, will you lend Fru Hansson the money?"

Herr Banker was looking down at his hands. He was silent. The big hall clock ticked firmly, and Erik's heart pounded in time. What was Herr Banker going to say?

At last he raised his head. "You have asked something which is not easy to grant, Erik," he said. "Hanssonborg, like many other large estates, is burdened with debts. My bank has already loaned Fru Hansson sums of money. I am afraid we can lend no more."

"Oh, but, Herr Banker," cried Erik, "for Greta's sake! The Baron is a gnome!"

"The Baron is a--a gnome?" Herr Banker was puzzled.

"Yes, a sickly, cowardly old gnome!" declared Erik. "And Greta must not marry him. My brother Nils is strong and brave, and when he finishes his studies, he will manage Hanssonborg and marry Greta and pay you back your money--every cent!"

Erik drew a deep breath, and Herr Banker smiled.

"But where do you think I am to find this money to lend Fru Hansson?" he inquired. "That which is in the bank does not belong to me. It belongs to other people, who put it there to keep it safe. If I were to take it out and maybe lose it, I should be stealing. Shouldn't I?"

Erik had not thought of that. Nor did he know that his country was noted for its successful management of money affairs. The Bank of Sweden is the oldest bank in Europe. Erik only knew that he was bitterly disappointed and unhappy.

"So you cannot help Fru Hansson and Greta?" he asked, with piteous despair.

Herr Banker again blew his nose. It sounded like the blast of a trumpet.

"Come back again tomorrow, Erik," he said. "I will give you my answer then."