Madam Speckbom’s Ark was not so well built as Noah’s. It was—to speak plainly—an old tumble-down of a house, which yet stood, because it was built together with a newer and stronger one. But, since like all old folks, it could not bear to accept the support of youth, it continually threw itself more to one side, to protest against the union; and so it came to hang menacingly out over the steep bank, which led down on the east to the harbor and wharves.
It was a corner-building, painted white toward the street, and red on the rear side. All sorts of curves, crooked lines, wry doors, outbuildings and additions seemed to have sent representatives to this Ark; and, as it stood there, in all its impossibility, it was just as great a puzzle for modern architecture as Noah’s.
But it must have been strong, notwithstanding; or else “the gang” would certainly have tumbled down into the cellar long ago—such a life as they often led there. It was a a great nuisance to the Falbes, especially at night, when there was trouble up in “the gang.” In the daytime, sister and brother both were out. She had a girl’s school in the finer part of town and he was, at any rate, not at the Ark.
They belonged to an old, official family; but there had been something wrong about their father. Rumor said that he had hung or shot himself, on account of an embezzlement; but it was several years ago, and in quite another part of the country; so no one knew anything certain about it.
Sure it is that the children became half-foreign in the town and lived alone and frugally. Miss Falbe’s lady-school was in high repute; although she herself was by no means a favorite. She was too imperious and odd for that.
Miss Falbe may have been thirty-five years old; her brother was two or three years younger. She was a blonde, with a big, humped nose and earnest eyes. But at certain times she could smile so friendly that people were quite astonished when they saw it the first time.
Christian Falbe resembled his sister; but he was a handsome man. The big, family nose became him better.
Already, by his thirtieth year, a rosy cloud had gathered about that same nose; for Christian Falbe drank a great deal.
If he had lived in a large city, he would probably have become a quite moderate saloon visitor. But in a little town, where one cannot visit cafes, one steals in at the back door and then learns to drink.
Naturally, all the town knew this about Falbe; but his sister imagined that she kept it hidden from everybody. For that was her constant thought and endless struggle from morning to evening, and oftentimes from evening to morning. She had given up reforming him; she was tired of all his good promises and luckless trials. Now it only remained to support him in some way and so to hide it. They knew their father’s fate; but with her, the family pride had collected itself into energy; with him, on the contrary, in futile discontent and bitterness.