Part 8 (2/2)

”I've no doubt she's a very clever woman. I haven't the honour of her acquaintance myself, but I must say I think a great deal of her daughter, in the office here.”

”Oh, Betty's just the opposite of her mother--she's no idea of art whatever.”

”No, poor child, I dare say she's had quite enough both of poverty and humbug.”

”Really, father, I don't think you're justified in saying things like that.”

”That may be, my son. But if you two young people are set on making artists of yourselves, why, do. And if you can give me a reasonable guarantee that it's any good trying, why, I won't stand in your way.”

”I think we can, then.”

And William went up to tell Marie what had pa.s.sed. Holm sat for a while occupied with his own thoughts, and came at last to the conclusion that the children were ”artist-mad,” and got it badly. He must manage to get hold of this Mrs. Rantzau, and see if she could not be persuaded to use her influence to get these ideas out of their heads--especially now, since her daughter was in the office.

There was a gentle tap at the door. It was little Hans, who stood timidly looking up at him.

”Well, Hans, lad, and how's the music getting on? I hope you've made friends with your teacher?”

He drew the boy over to a seat beside him on the sofa. Hans carefully placed his cap over one knee, for his trousers were torn, and he did not want it to be seen.

”Have you been for your lesson every day?”

”Yes, till the day before yesterday, but then I hurt my hand chopping wood for mother, so I've got to wait a few days till it's well.” And he held out one thin little hand, showing two fingers badly bruised and raw.

”Poor little man! I must tell Bramsen to lend you a hand with the chopping.”

”And, please, I was to bring you this letter from Mr. Bess; he asked me to take it up to you myself. It's the bill for my lessons, I think,” he added quickly, ”and he wants the money because of the rent.” Hans was well acquainted with such things from his own home life, and having heard the organist and his wife talking about the rent falling due, he at once took it for granted that the case was as urgent then as when his own mother lay awake at nights wondering how to meet a similar payment.

Holm took the letter and read:

”In accordance with your request, I have been giving lessons for some time to little Hans Martinsen, whose gift for music is really surprising. Though I do not consider myself fully qualified to judge the precise value of his talent, I would say, as my personal opinion, that the child shows quite unusual promise. And I am convinced that with skilful and attentive tuition, he could in time become a player of mark.

”I am an old man now, and am not otherwise competent to train such talent as it should be trained, but as a lover of music myself, I beg you to a.s.sist the child; you will find your reward, I'm sure. If I could afford it, I would gladly contribute as far as I was able, but as you know I am not in a position to do so. I will not, however, accept any payment for the lessons given, but should be glad to feel that I have made some little offering myself towards his future.”

Holm read the letter through once more.

”Little man, we must send you to Christiania to study there. I'll arrange it all, and you shall have the best teacher that's to be had.”

Hans sat twirling his cap, and made no answer.

”Well, Hans, aren't you glad? Wouldn't you like to go on with your music?”

”Yes, but I can't. I can't go away and leave mother; there'll be n.o.body to help her then.”

”Don't worry about that, my boy; your mother shall go with you. No more was.h.i.+ng; all she'll need to do will be just to look after you.”

”But--how? Mother couldn't go away like that!”

”We'll manage that all right. It's very simple. I'll lend your mother the money, do you see, and then, when you've learnt enough and can play properly yourself, you can pay it back--if you want to, that is.”

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