Part 8 (1/2)
”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.”