“Perhaps he’s not been able to afford that sort of thing,” said Ferdinand, with something like a sigh.
The two sat on for some time, and every now and then, when Klaus was off his guard, Ferdinand would slip in another little question about Peer. And by the time they had finished their second glass, Klaus had admitted that people said Peer’s mother had been a—well—no better than she should be.
“And what about his father?” Ferdinand let fall casually.
Klaus flushed uncomfortably at this. “Nobody—no—nobody knows much about him,” he stammered. “I’d tell you if I knew, hanged if I wouldn’t. No one has an idea who it was. He—he’s very likely in America.”
“You’re always mighty mysterious when you get on the subject of his family, I’ve noticed,” said Ferdinand with a laugh. But Klaus thought his companion looked a little pale.
A few days later Peer was sitting alone in his room above the stables, when he heard a step on the stairs, the door opened, and Ferdinand Holm walked in.
Peer rose involuntarily and grasped at the back of his chair as if to steady himself. If this young coxcomb had come—from the schoolmaster, for instance—or to take away his name—why, he’d just throw him downstairs, that was all.
“I thought I’d like to look you up, and see where you lived,” began the visitor, laying down his hat and taking a seat. “I’ve taken you unawares, I see. Sorry to disturb you. But the fact is there’s something I wanted to speak to you about.”
“Oh, is there?” and Peer sat down as far as conveniently possible from the other.
“I’ve noticed, even in the few times we’ve happened to meet, that you don’t like me. Well, you know, that’s a thing I’m not going to put up with.”