Part 3 (1/2)
He stands with head so meekly bowed, Withal a man of whom we're proud, We're proud of you, hurrah, hurroo, Hurrah, hurrip, hurray!
All honour to the grocery trade Whereby his fortune it was made, And a nice one too, hurrah, hurroo, Hurrah, hurrip, hurray!
It must have been a decent pile For his cellar's stocked in splendid style, Put it away, hurrah, hurray, Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!
Though somebody must have made, we fear, a Sad mistake with that Madeira, Maderiah, hurray, hurrah, Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!
But now he casts all care away And gladly joins our circle gay.
Our circle gay, hurrah, hurray, Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!
The flowing bowl he brings us here, So drink his health with a hearty cheer, Hip, hip, hurrah, hurrip, Hurrah, hurrip, hurra-a-ay!”
Holm did not know whether to laugh or cry at this exhibition, but chose the former; after all, it might be worth while to see how far they would go. He made speech after speech, and the company shouted in delight. Graarud, the literary critic of the _People's Guardian_, declared that Knut Holm was a credit to the merchant citizens of his country, and as fine a specimen of the type as was to be found.
Listad, another literary man, who edited a paper himself, was making love to Marie, but with little apparent success. He was a cadaverous-looking personage, but an idealist, and earnest in the cause of universal peace.
The speeches grew more and more exalted in tone as the evening went on. Pettersen invited the company to drink to the ”coming dawn of Art in the land--a dawn that would soon appear when once the daughter of the house raised her melodious voice to ring o'er hill and dale.”
This was too much for Holm; he slipped into the hall and, putting on an overcoat, went out to get some fresh air.
It was a fine, starlight, frosty night, the river flowed broad and smooth and dark between the piers, the gas lamps on either side shedding long streaks of light across the silent water.
He swung round the corner, but--heavens, who was that sitting so quietly on the steps in front of the shop? He went up, and found a twelve-year-old boy leaning against the wall.
”Why, little man, what's the matter? What are you sitting out here for in the cold?”
The lad rose hurriedly to his feet and made as if to run away.
”No, here, wait a bit, son; there's nothing to be afraid of.” Holm took the boy's hand, and looked into a pale childish face with deep dark eyes, and framed in a tangle of fair hair.
”I was only listening,” he sobbed.... ”The music upstairs there....”
”You're fond of music, then?”
”Yes; I always go out in the evening, when n.o.body can see, and sit outside where I know there's somebody that plays. And Holm's up there, they've got the loveliest piano.”
”Would you like to learn to play yourself?”
The boy looked up at him in astonishment.
”Me?”
”Yes, you. If you're so fond of music, wouldn't you like to learn to play?”
”I've got to help mother at home, because father's dead. And when I'm big enough I'm going to be a sailor. Please, I must go home now.”
”Mother getting anxious about you, eh?”