Part 52 (1/2)

At this Doffen grew angry in earnest, and slammed down the lid of his desk, making the ink-stands fairly dance.

”Well, of all the.... First of all I do my very utmost to save you from being ruined by your illegitimate offspring, then I manage to get her away in a decent, respectable manner--you ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself, if you ask me.”

The Admiral looked round as if in search of something.

”What the devil have you done with that Directory?” he said at last.

”Oho! Perhaps you'd like to be had up for another attempted manslaughter, what?”

”Not a bit of it. But there's a reward for extermination of rats and other mischievous beasts.”

Here the discussion was interrupted by the entrance of Ferryman Arne, who just looked in to ask if the Admiral hadn't an old pair of breeches to give away, as the seat was all out of the ones he was wearing. The Admiral never refused. He went to a wardrobe, routed out an old pair and gave them to Arne. The latter examined them carefully, front and back, but instead of saying thank you, he rudely declared that if the Admiral wanted to give a poor man something to wear, he might at least give him something that wasn't falling to bits already.

This led to a most satisfactory battle-royal between Arne and the Admiral, each trying to outdo the other in lurid pigeon-English--a tongue which both of them spoke fluently, Arne having been twelve years in the China Seas.

And in the end the Admiral presented Arne with two brand-new pairs of trousers and a pound in cash.

The years pa.s.sed by. Doffen stayed on in the office, and became indispensable as time went on. He and the Admiral made a pair. And whenever the conversation languished towards the milk-and-watery, Ferryman Arne would come and lend a hand.

The Princess roamed far and wide about the world. She sent home newspapers, wherein they read that she was performing at this or that great city, with thousands of admirers at her tiny feet.

The Admiral read it all without the slightest token of surprise, his only comment being: ”All right, that's her business.” But when one day he received a card bearing the inscription, ”Countess Montfalca,”

surmounted by a coronet, he spat, and remarked to Doffen:

”Well, after all, there's nothing surprising in that, seeing her mother was a queen.”

XXI

DIRRIK

The first time I met him was in 1867, on board the schooner _Jenny_ of Svelvik. The skipper was an uncle of mine, and had taken me along as odd boy for a summer cruise. And Ole Didriksen, or Dirrik, as we called him, was first hand on board.

We had taken in a cargo of pit props at Drammen, and came down the fjord with a light northerly breeze. A little way out the wind dropped altogether and the _Jenny_ lay drifting idly under a blazing sun.

Dirrik sounded the well, and declared that ”the old swine was leaking like a sieve.”--”Nonsense!” said the skipper. ”Why, it's not more than three years since her last overhaul.”--”Maybe,” said Dirrik, ”but she's powerful old.”--”Old she may be--built in '32--and I won't say but she's a trifle groggy about the ribs; still, she's good for this bit of a run. And summer weather and all.”

Dirrik tried again. ”Twenty-two inches,” he said, and looked inquiringly at the skipper. ”Well, then, you two men get the boat and go ash.o.r.e for a few sacks of caulking. There's plenty of ant-heaps up in the wood there.”

I was ready to burst with pride at finding myself thus bracketed with Dirrik as a ”man.” I felt myself a sailor already, and would not have bartered the t.i.tle for that of a Consul-General or Secretary of State.

But the ant-heaps puzzled me. I could see no connection between ant-heaps in a wood on sh.o.r.e and the caulking of a leaky schooner.

However, the first duty of man at sea is to obey the orders of the supreme power on board, _i.e._ the skipper; I curbed my curiosity, then, for the time, and waited till we were a few lengths away from the s.h.i.+p.

”Ant-heaps?” said Dirrik. ”Why, 'tis the only way to do with a leaky old tub like that. We dig 'em up, d'ye see, pine needles and all, and drag a caseful round her sides and down towards her keel, and she sucks it all up in her seams, ants and needles and bits of twigs, and the whole boiling, and that's the finest caulking you can get!”

”Queer sort of caulking,” I said.