Part 23 (1/2)

”I've got about a hundred crowns,” answered Lars Peter, fearing it would not suffice.

”You shall see your wife!” shouted the inn-keeper, shaking Lars Peter's hand violently. ”You shall see your wife as certain as I'm your friend! Perhaps she'll be with you tonight. What do you think of that, eh, old man?” He put his arm round Lars Peter's shoulders, shaking him jovially.

Lars Peter laughed and was moved--he almost had tears in his eyes.

He was a little overcome by the warmth of the room and the whiskey.

A tall thin gentleman came down into the cellar. He wore a black frock-coat, but was without waistcoat and collar--perhaps because he had been sent for in such a hurry. He had spectacles on, and looked on the whole a man of authority. He had a distinguished appearance, somewhat like a town-crier or a conjurer from the market-place. His voice was shrill and cracked, and he had an enormous larynx.

The inn-keeper treated him with great deference. ”G'day, sir,” said he, bowing low--”here's a man wants advice. He's had an accident, his wife's having a holiday at the King's expense.”

The conductor glanced rather contemptuously at the rag and bone man's big shabby figure. But the inn-keeper winked one eye, and said, ”I mustn't forget the beer-man.” He went behind the desk and wrote on a slate, ”100.” The Bandmaster glanced at the figure and nodded to himself, then sat down and began to question Lars Peter--down to every detail. He considered for a few minutes, and then said, turning towards the inn-keeper, ”Alma must tackle this--she's playing with the _princess_, you know.”

”Yes, of course!” shouted the inn-keeper, delightedly. ”Of course Alma can put it right, but tonight----?” He looked significantly at the Bandmaster.

”Leave it to me, my dear friend. Just you leave it to me,” said the other firmly.

Lars Peter tried hard to follow their conversation. They were funny fellows to listen to, although the case itself was serious enough.

He began to feel drowsy with the heat of the room--after his long day in the fresh air.

”Well, my good man, you wish to see the King?” said the Bandmaster, taking hold of the lapel of his coat. Lars Peter pulled himself together.

”I'd like to try that way, yes,” he answered with strained attention.

”Very well, then listen. I'll introduce you to my niece, who plays with the princess. This is how it stands, you see--but it's between ourselves--the _princess_ rather runs off the lines at times, she gets so sick of things, but it's incognito, you understand--unknowingly, we say--and then my niece is always by her side. You'll meet her--and the rest you must do yourself.”

”H'm, I'm not exactly dressed for such fine society,” said Lars Peter, looking down at himself. ”And I'm out of practice with the womenfolk--if it had been in my young days, now----!”

”Don't worry about that,” said his friend, ”people of high degree often have the most extraordinary taste. It would be d.a.m.ned strange if the _princess_ doesn't fall in love with you. And if she once takes a fancy to you, you may bet your last dollar that your case is in good hands.”

The inn-keeper diligently refilled their gla.s.ses, and Lars Peter looked more and more brightly at things. He was overcome by the Bandmaster's grand connections, and his ability in finding ways and means--exceedingly clever people he had struck upon. And when Miss Alma came, full-figured and with a curled fringe, his whole face beamed. ”What a lovely girl,” said he warmly, ”just the kind I'd have liked in the old days.”

Miss Alma at once wanted to sit on his knee, but Lars Peter kept her at arms' length. ”I've got a wife,” said he seriously. Sorine should have no grounds for complaint. A look from the Bandmaster made Alma draw herself up.

”Just wait until the _princess_ comes, then you'll see a lady,” said he to Lars Peter.

”She's not coming. She's at a ball tonight,” said Miss Alma with resentment.

”Then we'll go to the palace and find her.” The Bandmaster took his hat, and they all got up.

Outside in the street, a half-grown girl ran up and whispered something to him.

”Sorry, but I must go,” said he to Lars Peter--”my mother-in-law is at death's door. But you'll have a good time all right.”

”Come along,” cried Miss Alma, taking the rag and bone man by the arm. ”We two are going to see life!”

”Hundred--er--kisses, Alma! don't forget,” called the Bandmaster after them. His voice sounded like a market crier's.