“Nonsense, Massa. Let’s peep out once more.”
There were voices in the courtyard again. I put one eye to the window and saw, if you’ll believe it, Herman Nibb, the storekeeper, who had come to be photographed. Oh, what fun! That queer Nibb! No, we couldn’t go now; it was impossible, with such a prospect of amusement ahead. Cavallius couldn’t get hold of us up here, and if he tried, we could run like the wind.
Nibb came into the courtyard, bowing and bowing. He always walks with a dancing step in the street, as if he were on springs. He is surely very vain, for in one day I have seen him wear as many as seven different hats. That is absolutely true. Nibb always has something to do with bankruptcy; either he has just gone bankrupt or is just about to do so. There is never anything in his shop-window but a bunch of shoe-lasts, and he sells only kerosene. Often I should like to go into his shop because he is so queer, but since one can scarcely ask for a sample of shoe-lasts or kerosene, I can’t make any errand in there.
“Be so kind as to take a seat,” said Cavallius. “Vignette or the whole figure?”
“Is it any dearer with legs than without legs?” asked Nibb.
“The price is the same for the whole figure,” was the satisfactory answer.
Nibb placed himself in position. He looked as blank as if he didn’t know enough to count four, as he stood there.
“That is a fine expression you have now,” said Cavallius. “Don’t lose that expression and you will have a beautiful picture; don’t lose it. Pshaw! You let it go, after all.”
Nibb strove in vain to re-capture the beautiful expression.
“How was it I looked?” he asked.