Axel shrugged his shoulders. "Am I to see the poem?" he asked.
Klutz took it out and handed it to him. The twilight had come into the room, and Axel put the paper down a moment while he lit the candles on his table. Then he smoothed out its creases, and holding it close to the light read it attentively. Klutz leaned forward and watched his face. Not a muscle moved. It had been calm before, and it remained calm. Klutz could hardly keep himself from leaping up and striking that impassive face, striking some sort of feeling into it. He had played his big card, and Axel was quite unmoved. What could he do, what could he say, to hurt him?
"Shall we burn it?" inquired Axel, looking up from the paper.
"Burn it? Burn my poem?"
"It is such very great nonsense. It is written by a child. We know what child. Only one in this part can write English."
"Miss Estcourt wrote it, I tell you!" cried Klutz, jumping to his feet and snatching the paper away.
"Your telling me so does not in the very least convince me. Miss Estcourt knows nothing about it."
"She does—she did——" screamed Klutz, beside himself. "Your Miss Estcourt—your Braut—you try to brazen it out because you are ashamed of such a Braut. It is no use—everyone shall see this, and be told about it—the whole province shall ring with it—I will not be the laughing-stock, but you will be. Not a labourer, not a peasant, but shall hear of it——"
"It strikes me," said Axel, rising, "that you badly want kicking. I do not like to do it in my house—it hardly seems hospitable. If you will suggest a convenient place, neutral ground, I shall be pleased to come and do it."
He looked at Klutz with an encouraging smile. Then something in the young man's twitching face arrested his attention. "Do you know what I think?" he said quickly, in a different voice. "It is less a kicking that you want than a good meal. You really look as though you had had nothing to eat for a week. The difference a beefsteak would make to your views would surprise you. Come, come," he said, patting him on the shoulder, "I have been taking you too seriously. You are evidently not in your usual state. When did you have food last? What has Frau Pastor been about? And your eyelids are so red that I do believe——" Axel looked closer—"I do believe you have been crying."