Part 15 (1/2)

The banker swallowed the pill without wincing, and merely observed:

”Yes, it's an unsatisfactory business, patching up old wrecks.

Apropos, Vindt, how's the gout getting on? Going anywhere for a cure this summer?”

”Can't afford it, I'm afraid. Bills for repairing wrecks, you know, are apt to be a bit heavy when they come in.”

Hermansen gave it up after that, but he was considerably annoyed when he returned to the bank, as Petersen, the cas.h.i.+er, could see from the way he flung down his gloves and hat--it was rarely the banker showed so much irritation.

Meantime, Holm was thinking over what Vindt had said. ”Wait till the little Donna's moved upstairs for good....” Now what on earth did he mean by that? Vindt could not possibly have any idea that he, Knut Holm, was contemplating marriage. William and Betty, then?

Nonsense--the idea was preposterous; it certainly could never have entered his head, far less Vindt's. Still, it was certainly queer, the way the boy stuck to the office and never stirred out....

In days past it had been impossible to keep him at the desk for an hour on end; now, he hung over the books as if he were nailed to the stool.

”Anyhow, we'll make an end of it some way or other. I'm not going to sit here and be made a fool of.”

And Holm went into the inner office. By a rare chance, William had gone out, and he found Betty alone.

The girl had her mother's irresistible charm. Not so handsome, true, but of a gentler type, thought Holm to himself as he looked at the fresh young face.

And that fair curling hair of hers went splendidly with the dark eyebrows.

”You're working too hard; you mustn't overdo it, you know,” he said kindly.

”Not the least bit, really; I like it. I've quite fallen in love with the big ledger here, it's such a nice comfortable old-fas.h.i.+oned thing.”

”So you like old-fas.h.i.+oned things? Perhaps you would include me in the category of old?”

”You, Mr. Holm! Of course not. Why, you're just in the prime of life.”

”Well, yes, I hope so. But what would you say, now, if a man--in the prime of life--were to say to you, My dear Miss Betty, will you come and help to brighten up my home? You're too good to wear yourself out with working in an office, when you might be filling a man's life with comfort and content.”

Betty got down from her stool and stood looking at him in astonishment.

”Really, Mr. Holm, I don't know what you mean!”

”Oh, I know I'm much older than you, Miss Betty, but my heart's as young as ever, and I can offer you a good home and devoted affection, better, perhaps, than you would find elsewhere.”

He placed himself opposite her and endeavoured to meet her eyes, but she took refuge behind the ledger, and would not look up.

”I've seen ups and downs in my time, Miss Betty, and learned a good deal of life; you won't find me such a poor support to lean on.”

”Oh, please, Mr. Holm, please don't say any more. I--I must go home now, mama will be waiting....” She broke off, and began hurriedly and nervously putting on her things.

Holm put out his hand and held hers a moment or two, then she ran out, and soon her light, firm step had pa.s.sed out of hearing.

Holm was annoyed.

”H'm, you're out of practice, that's what it is. Getting old.

Shouldn't have sprung it on her suddenly like that. Never flurry a turtle dove; slips out of the ark if you do, and never comes back.

But you don't see Knut Holm giving up the game for a little thing like that; no, we must get our old friend Bianca to lend a hand.