Ormarr went to the telephone, and rung up the office, speaking coolly enough.
“That you Busck? Good morning. Captain Jantzen there? Morning, Captain.... No, nothing wrong, but something has happened. Yes ... listen! You must hand over ‘Bjornen’ to the first mate this voyage.... What? Lose half an hour? Can’t be helped; I want you here. Come out here at once, please, but first get the chief clerk to tell you what I want done about the shares, and do as he says. Then out here to me as quick as you can. I’ll tell you all about it when you arrive. Right—good-bye.”
A few minutes later the telephone bell rang. Ormarr took up the receiver with a gesture of annoyance, but on recognizing the speaker’s voice, his manner changed.
“Yes—yes. Morning, Ketill. Ill? No, not a bit. Are you both there? Well, come out and have lunch with me instead. Don’t know what we’ve got in the house, but come anyway. Eh? No, not a bit. I have been rather busy—up all night.... No, never can sleep in the daytime. Right, then. Au revoir.”
Ketill, now getting on for thirty, was already in orders, and was to be presented to the living of Hof in Hofsfjordur in the autumn, Sera Daniel being about to retire on account of age.
The original plan had been that Ketill should have spent a few days only in Copenhagen when going abroad in the spring, on his way to Switzerland and Italy, returning via England. But Ketill, who had preferred staying at an hotel rather than at his brother’s, had soon found friends, largely owing to his brother’s introductions. One of the acquaintances thus made was that of a banker, Vivild, whose daughter Alma had quickly captured Ketill’s heart.
His tour of Europe, then, came to consist of but a few short trips, with Copenhagen as his headquarters. Ormarr had been surprised at this, but his brother gave him no enlightenment as to the attraction which drew him constantly back to the capital. Until one fine day Ketill announced his engagement and forthcoming marriage.
Ormarr had always looked on Alma as a tender plant, that could never be transplanted and live; the news surprised him. But he made no comment. Without realizing it himself, he had been deeply in love with dainty, sweet-natured Alma, but for no other reason apparently than a sense of his own unworthiness, had said no word of it to her. And here was his brother, holding the blossom himself, and tantalizingly inviting him to admire its sweetness.
The part of brother-in-law was by no means a pleasant prospect to Ormarr, but he reconciled himself to the thought.