Part 33 (2/2)
Nachmann, a citizen of the town.”
”Quite right, Your Majesty; a genuine brand and _premier one_.”
Nachmann rose to his feet and turned his moonlike countenance towards the King.
”Thanks for good wine, then, Nachmann,” said His Majesty, raising his gla.s.s.
”Proudest moment in my life, Your Majesty. I'll take the liberty of laying down a few bottles in memory of the occasion--until Your Majesty honours us again. Most humble servant, Your Majesty.”
And Nachmann bowed deeply, but with evident pride. How they would envy him now, P. A. La.r.s.en, Lundgren, Carl Fleischer, and all the rest of them, who fancied n.o.body sold good wine but themselves! He would get the editor of the _Strandvik Gazette_ to quote the Royal compliment to the firm of Nachmann & Co.--it was a credit to the town to have such a business in its midst.
When Nachmann rose, there was a sudden silence; one could have heard a pin drop. But since His Majesty took the occurrence in such good part, the others could do so too. Nevertheless, Justice Heidt considered Nachmann's behaviour unjustifiable and a breach of etiquette. He cast a glance of stern reproof at the wine merchant, but the latter was so elated that he misunderstood its meaning, and, raising his gla.s.s, nodded pleasantly in return: ”Your health, Justice!”
Old Klementsen, the parish clerk, who had hardly eaten at all for two days in order to get full value out of the banquet for his twelve s.h.i.+llings, had been shovelling away as hard as he could stuff, and drinking in proportion. He was now in high feather as a result, and his one idea now was to get up and make a speech in honour of Carl Johan, whom he had seen in 1840.
His neighbours with difficulty restrained him, tearing the tails of his coat in their efforts to keep him in his seat. Finally, they got him down into the police cells on the ground floor, when he delivered his loyal oration to the warder.
Up in the gallery sat the ladies of the town, perspiring in their Sunday best; it was almost hot enough up there to boil a lobster. All were thirsty too, and matters were not improved by the sight of their respective husbands and fathers in the hall below eating and drinking _ad libitum_ of the best, while they themselves had neither bite nor sup.
Miss Svane, headmistress of the girls' school, could not restrain her emotions, and declared warmly that ”it was easy enough to be a loyal subject of His Majesty if that was how they did it!”
Cilia Braaten had never seen a King at meals before; she was gratified with the new experience, and had no thought for anything else until Miss Svane delivered her envious dictum. Then, however, she resolutely sent off a boy for six bottles of lemonade, in which the ladies drank to His Majesty's health--and, literally speaking, drank it warmly.
At last the time came for the Royal party to leave, and the departure took place amid an endless thunder of cheering. Rockets whizzed, the gun at the fire-station boomed in salute. But in the banqueting-hall the fun grew fast and furious.
Bowls of punch were brought in, and Schoolmaster Iversen made thirteen speeches, to which n.o.body listened at all. Skipper Abrahamsen jumped up on the table and made another for the Norwegian play, in the course of which he managed to empty his gla.s.s of punch over Warden Prois's new uniform, at which that worthy, very naturally incensed, cursed the patriot emphatically for behaving like a monkey on a tightrope.
Even aged Klementsen had come to life again, and found his way upstairs from the cells, somewhat pale but resolute still. His appearance was greeted with a burst of cheering, and a party of enthusiasts chaired him round the hall, singing patriotic songs the while. The singing and shouting continued well on towards morning, and a street sweeper declared he had heard them howling out ”G.o.d save our gracious King” at half-past six--but his watch, no doubt, must have been fast!
Next day the _Strandvik Gazette_ contained a poem ent.i.tled ”A Royal Visit,” from which the following verses concerning the banquet may be quoted:
”'Twas plain to see that Strandvik town Lacked neither meat nor mirth, The banquet might have brought renown To any place on earth.
The dishes, numbering fourteen, Were rich enough to make, If such his daily fare had been, The Royal tummy ache.
And healths were drunk and speeches very wittily were said, And those who had no speech to make, they drank the wine instead.
But yet in spite of speeches gay And wit and wine, I dare to say His Majesty was glad to get away!”
XV
PETER OILAND
Peter Oiland, the new master at the girls' school in Strandvik, was a tall, thin man of about thirty. He had taken a theological degree, and his solemn, clean face gave him a somewhat clerical air; his manner, too, appeared calm and reserved.
”Not much fun to be got out of him, by his looks,” said Old Nick, the first time he encountered Peter Oiland's lanky figure and serious countenance on his way up through the town.
It was not from any predilection of his own, however, that Peter Oiland had come to study theology, but a result of circ.u.mstances which left him no choice in the matter. His studies had been carried through at the expense of an old uncle, who was parish clerk at Sandefjord, and whose dearest wish it was to see the boy in Holy Orders. Only fancy; to be handing the ca.s.sock to a nephew of his own.
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