VI
Tidemand came to H. Henriksen's office at ten the next morning. Ole was standing at his desk.
Tidemand's errand was, as he had said, a matter of business only; he spoke in a low voice and placed before Ole a telegram couched in mysterious words. Where it said "Rising One," it really meant "Ten," and where it said "Baisse U. S.," it meant an exportation prohibition on the Black Sea and along the Danube, and a rise in America. The telegram was from Tidemand's agent in Archangel.
Ole Henriksen immediately grasped the situation: on account of the Russian crop failure, in connection with the already low supplies, Russia was preparing to prohibit all grain exports. Hard times were coming. Norway, too, would feel the pressure, and grain would soar to incredible prices. It was necessary to get hold of as much as possible at no matter what figure. In spite of official Russian denials of the rumours in English newspapers, it seemed as if America already had scented the danger, for American wheat was rising daily. From eighty-seven and eighty-eight it had risen until it now fluctuated between one hundred and ten and one hundred and fifteen. Nobody could predict to what heights it would climb.
Tidemand's business with Ole was a proposition that the two friends and colleagues join in a speculation in American rye while there still was time. They were to join forces and import a mass of rye that should materially assist in keeping the country fed during the coming year. But it was a matter of urgency; rye, too, was soaring; in Russia it was almost unpurchasable.
Ole left his desk and began to walk up and down. His mind was working; he had intended to offer Tidemand some refreshment, but forgot it entirely. He was greatly tempted, but he was up to his neck in other pressing engagements—that Brazilian affair had almost paralysed him for the moment, and he did not expect to be able to take his profits until early summer.
"There ought to be money in it," said Tidemand.
No doubt; that was not why Ole hesitated. But he simply was not able to do it. He explained his circumstances and added that he was afraid to tackle anything more at present. The speculation appealed to him, notwithstanding his inability to participate; his eyes gleamed, and he inquired eagerly into all the details. He took a piece of paper, made estimates, and studied the telegram afresh with a thoughtful air. Finally he declared that he could do nothing.
"Of course I can operate alone," said Tidemand. "I will do it on a smaller scale, that is all. But I should have liked you to be in on this; I would have felt safer. I realise that you cannot go further. However, I'll telegraph myself; have you got a blank?"
Tidemand wrote out his telegram and handed it to Ole.
"I guess that is clear enough?"
Ole stepped back a pace.
"So much?" he exclaimed. "This is a big order, Andreas."
"It is big. But I hope the results will justify it," answered Tidemand quietly. And unable to control a feeling that overwhelmed him at the moment, he looked toward the wall and whispered as if to himself: "I don't care how it turns out or about anything any more."
Ole looked at him and asked:
"Any news?"
"No—"
"Well, we'll see how it turns out."
Tidemand put the telegram in his pocket.
"I should have liked us both to be in this enterprise, Ole. I must confess that I am in deep elsewhere, too, but—I have my ice to realise on. When the warm weather comes I'll make money on that, don't you think?"
"Decidedly! As good as ready money, ice is."
"So I am not altogether on my knees. And may the Lord keep that sad fate from me, both for my own sake and for the sake of mine!"
"But could you not as a matter of safety—Wait a moment. Pardon me for not offering you a cigar; I know how you like to smoke while talking; I forgot. Sit down a moment; I'll be back directly."
Tidemand knew that Ole was on his way to the cellar for the usual bottle of wine, and tried to call him back, but Ole did not hear and returned in a moment with the old, fuzzy bottle. They sat on the sofa as usual and drank to each other.
"I simply wanted to ask," continued Ole, "are you sure you have considered everything in connection with this American affair? I do not flatter myself that I can teach you anything, you know, but—"
"Yes, I fancy I have calculated all contingencies," answered Tidemand. "You notice I am using the term 'Delivery within three days.' Success depends on quick action. I haven't even forgotten to consider the effect of a possible presidential change in America."
"But wouldn't it be safer to place your limit a little closer? Perhaps you ought not to buy over twelve."
"No; that would not be well. For you understand that if Russia closes, then fifteen, or even twenty, is not too much. On the other hand, if she does not close, then a hundred, yes, ninety, is far too much. In that case I am done for."
They both reflected.
"I believe this enterprise is going to be lucky," said Tidemand suddenly. "Really, I feel it. You know what it means when we traders have a premonition of this kind."
"How are things otherwise?" asked Ole.
"Well," Tidemand answered hurriedly, "it does not look so bad just now, not at all. Things are very much as usual at home."
"No change, then?"
"Well, no—I must get back now."
Tidemand got up. Ole followed him to the door and said:
"It wasn't you who didn't care how matters turn out, was it? Well, I am glad you came, anyway."
The awkward fellow! This was Ole Henriksen's way of stiffening a comrade's backbone.
But Tidemand did not go at once; he stood there with his hand on the door-knob and shifted his eyes nervously from place to place.
"It can hardly be thought strange if I get a little downhearted once in a while," he said. "Things do not look very bright for me; I do my best to fix everything up, but I do not make much headway, not very much, no. Well, we'll have to wait and see how matters shape themselves. I think it is getting a little better, thank God."
"Does your wife keep at home more now? It seems to me that—"
"Hanka has been a good mother to the children lately. I have been very happy because of that; it has brought us closer together, as it were. She is busy fitting the children out for the country. It is wonderful the things she gets together; I have never seen anything like it—blue and white and red dresses! They are lying home; I look at them whenever I am home. Perhaps I shouldn't place too much faith in it. She does not consider herself married yet, she continues to call herself Lange. That may be only a whim. She calls herself Tidemand, too; she does not forget that. You yourself heard last night in Tivoli how she asked me for a hundred. I am glad she does that; I don't mind, and shouldn't have mentioned it if you hadn't heard it yourself. But it happened to be the third hundred crowns she had got from me in two days. Don't misunderstand me! But why does she ask me for money before people? Isn't that as if she wanted to give out the impression that that is the only way to take me, otherwise she wouldn't get any? She uses a good deal of money; I hardly think she uses it for herself; I am sure she doesn't, for Hanka was never extravagant. She must be giving it away; it is her affair if she helps somebody. She gets quite a lot of money from me in a week's time; sometimes she gets it when she goes out, and she has nothing left when she returns, although she has bought nothing. Well, that does not matter. As long as I have anything it belongs to her as well as to me; that is only right and natural. I asked her jokingly once if she wanted to ruin me— make a beggar out of me. It was only a joke, and I laughed heartily myself as I said it. But I shouldn't have said it; she offered to leave the house whenever I wanted her to—in short, divorce. She has told me that often enough, but this time simply because of a joke. I said that I was sorry, and I asked her pardon; I had never for a moment thought of such a thing as that she might ruin me. 'Dear Andreas,' she asked me, 'can we never get free from each other?' I do not know what I answered; I guess there was not much sense to it, for she asked immediately for my key, as she had lost her own. I gave it to her, and then she smiled. 'Smile again,' I said, and she did it for my sake, and said smilingly that I was a big baby. Yesterday morning I didn't see her before I got home from the office. She was still working with the children's summer outfit and showed me everything. She took out her handkerchief, and as she pulled it out from her dress a tie fell out, a gentleman's red tie. I made out that I did not see it; but I knew very well that the tie did not belong to me. I knew it only too well. That is—understand me correctly—I did not see it well enough to be sure whom it might belong to. It might even have been one of my own ties, some old rag I have ceased to use. It is a peculiarity of mine never to remember my own ties; I notice them so little, I imagine—So things are coming around, as I said. And if my big trade now succeeds, perhaps that will bring luck for us all. It would be fun to show her that I am not such a dunce, ha, ha!"
The two friends talked a little further, after which Tidemand went to the telegraph office. He was full of hope. His great idea was to discount the crisis, to hold enormous supplies of grain when nobody else should have any. He would succeed! He walked with a springy step, like a youth, and avoided meeting anybody who might detain him.
* * * * *
A telegram to the foreign office announced five days later that the Russian government, owing to the shortage of grain and the dark outlook for the coming harvests, had been obliged to prohibit all exports of rye, wheat, corn, and grist from the harbours of Russia and Finland.
Tidemand's calculations had proven correct.
RIPENING
I
Irgens had published his book. This superior soul, who never took anybody into his confidence, had, to the great surprise of everybody, put out a charming volume of poems just when spring was in full blow. Was that not a surprise? True, it was two years since his drama had appeared; but it was now proven that he had not been idle; he had conceived one poem after another, and quietly put them away, and when the heap had grown big enough he had given it to the printer. It was thus a proud man should act; nobody exceeded Irgens in strong and warm discretion.
His book was exhibited in the bookstore windows; people discussed it and predicted it would attract much attention; the ladies were enraptured with the gently glowing love stanzas scattered through it. There were also many bold and courageous words, full of manliness and will: poems to Justice, to Liberty, to the Kings—God knows he did not spare the kings. But Irgens noticed no more than ever that people admired him when he strolled down the promenade. Gracious! if they enjoyed looking at him, that was their affair. He was frigidly indifferent, as ever.
"I must admit you are a foxy fellow!" exclaimed even Norem, the Actor, when he ran across him on the street. "Here you go along quietly and say nothing, and all of a sudden you set off a rocket right under our very noses. You are unique!"
The Attorney, however, could not help giving him a little dig; he laughed and said: "But you have enemies, Irgens. I was talking to a man today who refused to see anything gigantic in the publishing of a small volume after a lapse of nearly two years and a half!"
Then Irgens flung back the haughty reply: "I take a pride in a limited production. The quantity does not matter."
Later on, however, he inquired concerning the identity of this detractor. He was not tortured by curiosity; people knew fortunately that he was quite indifferent to public opinion. But anyhow—was it Paulsberg?
No, it was not Paulsberg.
Irgens made a few more questions and guesses, but the pretentious Attorney refused to betray his critic. He made a secret out of it, and irritated Irgens as much as he could. "It seems you are not so altogether indifferent," he teased and chuckled gleefully.
Irgens murmured contemptuously: "Nonsense!" But he was evidently considerably bothered by this defamer, this jealous fellow who had criticised him, and tried to belittle his exploit. If not Paulsberg, who then? Who among them had done better during the last two and a half years? Irgens knew nobody; among the younger writers he was absolutely paramount. Suddenly something struck him, and he said indifferently:
"Of course, it is a matter of absolute indifference to me who the person is; but if it is that lout Coldevin—Lord, man! do you really pay any attention to what such a freak says? A man who carries a cigar-holder and a dirty comb in the same pocket! Well, I must be going; so long!"
Irgens walked off. If the enemy was this barbarian from the backwoods, well and good! His mind was again relieved; he nodded to acquaintances and looked quite cheerful. He had for a moment felt aggrieved that anybody should be grumbling behind his back, but that was now forgotten; it would be foolish to take offence at this old bushwhacker.
Irgens intended to take a walk around the harbour so as to be left in peace; this more or less stupid talk about his book had really got on his nerves. Were people now beginning to prate about working hours and quantity in connection with poetry? In that case his book would be found wanting; it was not so very ponderous; it did not outweigh one of Paulsberg's novels, thank God!
When he reached the harbour he suddenly caught a glimpse of Coldevin's head behind a pile of packing-cases. Irgens noticed the direction of his glance, but this told him nothing; the old imbecile was evidently lost in some crazy meditation or other. It was amusing to see him so altogether unconscious of his surroundings, standing there agape with his nose in the air. His eyes were almost in a direct line with the little office window at the end of Henriksen's warehouse; he stared unblinkingly and apparently unseeingly at that particular spot. Irgens was on the point of going over in order to inquire if he perhaps wanted to see Ole Henriksen; he would then be able to turn the conversation to his book and get the old man to express an opinion. It would be quite entertaining; the oaf would be forced to admit that he valued poetry according to weight. But was it worth while? It was really of no account whatever what this person might think. Irgens made a turn across the docks; he looked up—Coldevin had not moved. Irgens sauntered past, crossed the street on his way up-town. Suddenly Ole Henriksen and Aagot came out of the warehouse and caught sight of him.
"Good day, good day, Irgens!" called Ole with outstretched hand. "Glad to see you. I want to thank you for the book you sent us. You are a wonder; you surprise your very best friends even—poet, master!"
Ole talked on, pleased and happy over his friend's accomplishment, admiring now one stanza, now another, and thanking Irgens over and over.
"Aagot and I have read it with beating hearts!" he said. "I really believe Aagot wept a little now and then—Yes; you did; no use denying it, Aagot. You need not feel ashamed of that—What I wanted to say—come along to the telegraph office, Irgens; then we'll drop in at Sara's afterward, if you like. I have a little surprise for you."
Aagot said nothing.
"You can walk up and down a little while I telegraph," said Ole. "But don't get impatient if it takes some time. I have got to catch a ship before it leaves Arendal!"
And Ole ran up the stairs and disappeared; Irgens looked after him.
"Listen—I want to thank you for your book!" said Aagot quickly in a low voice. "You will never know how I have enjoyed it."
"Really? Truly? It is good to hear you say that," he replied, full of gratitude. That she should have waited until Ole had left in order to thank him was a charming and delicate tribute; she had done it now much more genuinely and warmly; her words meant so much more now. She told him what had especially stirred her; it was that wonderful "Song to Life"; never had she read anything so beautiful. Then, as if she feared she had spoken too warmly and laid herself open to misunderstanding, she added in an ordinary tone of voice that Ole had been just as enchanted as she; he had read most of it aloud to her.
Irgens made a wry face. Did she care to have things read to her? Really?
It was intentionally that Aagot had mixed Ole's name into the conversation. This afternoon he had once more asked her about the wedding, and she had left everything to him; there was no reason for delay. It had been decided to have the wedding after Ole had returned from London this coming fall. Ole was as good as the day was long; he never grew impatient with her and was almost absurdly fond of her. He had said that perhaps she had better spend a little time in the house occasionally. She had flushed; she could not help it; it was disgraceful not to have stirred a finger to make herself a little useful instead of hanging around the office early and late. Suppose she began to think a little about their house, said Ole; she might make up her mind about things they wanted, furniture and such. Of course, she should have all the help she needed, but—Yes, it was only too true; she had not given her new home a thought; she had simply hung about the office with him. She had begun to cry, and had told him how silly and useless she really was; she was a goose, a stupid little goose. But Ole had taken her in his arms and had sat down with her on the sofa and told her that she was only a child, a charming, wonderful child, but she was getting older and more sensible right along; time and life were before them. How he loved her! His eyes, too, were wet; he looked like a child himself. Above all, there was no hurry; she had free hands to decide and arrange, just as she pleased. Yes; they were fully agreed….
"I must confess I feared you had lost interest in us poets," said Irgens.
"I was afraid we had forfeited your good-will in some way."
She woke up and looked at him.
"Why do you say that?"
"I had come to that conclusion. You remember that evening at Tivoli when your old tutor was quite severe on us poor scribblers? You looked as if you heartily approved of everything he said."
"No, you are mistaken."
Pause.
"I am very glad that I have met you, anyway," said Irgens as indifferently as he could. "Only to see you is enough to put me in good spirits. It must be wonderful to be able to bring happiness to others simply by appearing."
She had not the heart to show displeasure over that; perhaps he really meant it, strange though it sounded, and she answered smilingly:
"It would be hard on you if you depended on me to bring you good spirits." God knows she had not meant to pain him; she had said it in all innocence, without any veiled thought or ulterior motive; but when Irgens's head drooped and he said quietly, "Yes, I understand!" it occurred to her that several interpretations might be placed upon this sentence, and she added hurriedly: "For you do not see me very often. By the way, I am going to the country this summer; I shall probably be away until fall."
He stopped.
"Are you going to the country?"
"Yes. I am going with Mrs. Tidemand. I shall be with her until fall."
Irgens was silent and thoughtful a few moments.
"Has it been decided that Tidemands are going to the country, then?" he asked. "I understood it was not settled yet."
Aagot nodded and said that it had been decided.
"That pleasure has been denied me," he said with a wistful smile. "No country joys for me."
"Why not?"
She regretted her question immediately; of course, he could not afford it. She was always so indelicate and awkward! She added a few meaningless words to save him the humiliation of a reply.
"When I want to go to the country I hire a boat and row over to the island," he said with his sad smile. "Anyway, it is better than nothing."
The island? She grew 'attentive. "Of course, the island! I haven't been there yet. Is it pretty?"
"Beautiful! There are some wonderful places. I know them all. If I only dared I would ask you to let me row you over some time?"
This was not said in simple courtesy; it was a request. She understood it perfectly. But she said, all the same, that she was not sure she had time; it would be interesting, but—
Pause.
"I wrote many of my poems there," continued Irgens. "I should like to show you the place."
Aagot was silent.
"Come, please!" he exclaimed suddenly, and wanted to take her hand.
Just then Ole Henriksen appeared on the stairs and came toward them.
Irgens remained in his pleading attitude; he said with outstretched hand:
"Do, please!"
She glanced at him hurriedly.
"Yes," she whispered.
Ole joined them; he had not been able to get hold of Arendal at once; he could not get a reply until to-morrow. Off to Sara now! He really had a surprise for them—he carried in his pocket Ojen's latest work. They just ought to hear it!