“Oh, yes,” said Frithiof, coloring. “One of the brothers was in Norway this summer, came to our house, dined with us, professed the greatest friendliness, while all the time he must have known what the firm was meditating.”
“Doubtless came to see how the land lay,” said the minister. “And what of the other brother?”
“I saw him yesterday,” replied Frithiof. “He was very civil; told me the telegram had been sent off that morning about the affair, as it would not bear delay, and spoke very highly of my father. Words cost nothing, you see.”
The consul noted the extreme bitterness of the tone, and looked searchingly into the face of his visitor. “Poor fellow!” he reflected; “he starts in life with a grievance, and there is nothing so bad for a man as that. A fine, handsome boy, too. If he stays eating his heart out in London he will go to the dogs in no time.”
“See,” he said, “these Morgans, though they may be keen business men, yet they are after all human. When they learn at what an unlucky time their telegram arrived, it is but natural that they should regret it. Their impulse will be to help you. I should advise you to go to them at once and talk the affair over with them. If they have any proper feeling they will offer you some sort of employment in this new Stavanger branch, or they might, perhaps, have some opening for you in their London house.”
“I can not go to them,” said Frithiof, in a choked voice. “I would rather die first.”
“I can understand,” said the consul, “that you feel very bitter, and that you resent the way in which they have behaved. But still I think you should try to get over that. After all, they knew nothing of your father’s affairs; they did not intentionally kill him. That the two disasters followed so closely on each other was but an accident.”
“Still I could never accept anything from them; it is out of the question,” said Frithiof.
“Excuse me if I speak plainly,” said the consul. “You are very young, and you know but little of the world. If you allow yourself to be governed by pride of this sort you can not hope to get on. Now turn it over in your mind, and if you do not feel that you can see these people, at any rate write to them.”
“I cannot explain it all to you, sir,” said Frithiof. “But there are private reasons which make that altogether impossible.”