Part 41 (2/2)

Bernt Jorgensen had come down himself to the waterside on seeing the vessel so beflagged, as it had not been since the day of his own wedding, thirty years before. He stood shading his eyes with one hand, as he watched Nils Petter in the boat coming in. ”What on earth was that he had got in the stern? Something all tied about with fluttering red ribbons.”

”Hey, brother!” hailed Nils Petter joyfully, standing up in the boat.

”Here's a remittance, if you like!” And he pointed to a buxom young woman who sat nodding and smiling at his side. Without undue ceremony he hoisted the lady by one arm up on to the quay, and the pair stood facing Bernt, who stared speechlessly from one to the other.

”Here's your brother-in-law, my dear,” said Nils Petter in a dialect presumably meant for Dutch, nudging the fair one with his knee in a part where Hollanders are generally supposed to be well upholstered.

The impetus sent her flying into the arms of Bernt, who extricated himself humidly.

”Her name's Jantjedina van Groot, my good and faithful wife,” Nils Petter explained. Bernt Jorgensen, who had not yet recovered from his astonishment, only grunted again and again: ”H'm--h'm----” and made haste towards home, followed by Nils Petter and his bride.

This time nothing was said about the freight money, which was just as well for all concerned, seeing it had all been spent in the purchase of various household goods and extra provisions with which to celebrate the occasion. Nils Petter's new relations in Holland, too, had had to be treated in hospitable fas.h.i.+on--which was just as well for them, since he never called there again!

Bernt Jorgensen decided that it would be more economical to pension off Nils Petter, and get a skipper of the old school to take over the _Eva Maria_; after which there was rarely any trouble about the freight money.

”Ah, but expenses now aren't what they were in my time,” Nils Petter would say.

Which, in one sense, was perfectly true.

XVIII

THE _HENRIK IBSEN_

”Well, and what are you doing with that brat of yours, _Birkebeineren_,” asked Hansen the s.h.i.+pbroker, one day, meeting Soren Braaten in the street. ”Got any freight yet?”

”No, worse luck. These wretched steamers take all there is. I can't see what's the good of steam anyway. We got along all right without it before, but it's all different now. Doesn't give a poor man time to breathe.”

”Yes, the old windjammers are rather out of it now,” Hansen agreed.

”Going to rack and ruin, as far as I can see. And what's the sense of all this hurry and skurry, when all's said and done. It's against nature, that's what I say. When I think how we used to get along in the old days. Why, I never heard but that the merchants over in England and Holland were pleased enough with the cargoes when they got there, whether we'd been a fortnight or a month on the way, and we made a decent living out of it and so did they. But now? As soon as a steamer comes along, it's all fuss and excitement and bother and complaint all round.”

”You ought to see and get hold of a steamboat yourself, Soren; we mustn't be behindhand with everything, you know. Why, up in Drammen now, they've seven or eight of them already.”

”Thank you for nothing. Let them buy steamers that cares to; it won't be Soren Braaten, though.”

And Soren walked homeward, inwardly anathematising the inventor of steam, who might have found a better use for his time than causing all that trouble to his fellow-men.

Cilia was in the kitchen when he came in; the first thing she asked was whether he had got a charter for _Birkebeineren_.

The vessel had been lying in Christiania now for nearly a month; such a thing had never happened before.

Remittances? Alas, these had so dwindled of late as to be almost microscopic. Things were looking gloomy all round.

Cilia sat by the fire looking thoughtfully into the blaze. She dropped her knitting, and stuck the odd needle into her hair, that was fastened in a coil at the back of her head. The wool rolled to the floor, but when Soren stooped to pick it up, she ordered him sharply to leave it alone. There was something in her voice that startled Soren. Ever since the battle royal of a few years back, she had been quiet and sensible, and things had gone on between them as smoothly as could be wished.

Suddenly she rose to her feet, and stood with one hand on her hip, the other holding the bench.

<script>