Norby looked contemptuously at the greasy-looking, bald-headed old man. He was about to laugh or give a scornful answer; but a voice whispered! “Take care not to let the cat out of the bag!” and he said with a smile:
“A great many people have asked me to be surety for them; but I can’t remember them all.” Then, irritated at again hearing Wangen’s sarcastic laugh, he added casually: “He must have asked me, however; for latterly he was running about and asking every blessed soul he knew.”
This time he heard Marit laugh.
When his examination was over, he remembered the declaration from Haarstad’s widow, and asked to be recalled when Sören Kvikne had given evidence. When he came out of the room he stood on the stairs for a little while to cool himself before putting on his cap. There was a voice far away, crying: “You have lied!” But it was too far away, and powerful voices rose against it. It was true, was it, that he had defrauded that widow?
He still seemed to hear Wangen’s laughter, and he thought once more: “Wait a little, and I’ll give you something to laugh at!” He still had his best cards in his hand.
“It’s too bad all the same,” he thought, as he sauntered across the yard, “that one should be exposed to the attacks of such riff-raff. You have both to circumvent them and to wriggle away from them; but I’ll be d——d if that man doesn’t have to leave the parish now!”
Suddenly the old man stood still. A young man in overcoat and fur cap was coming towards him. Was he mistaken? No; it was Einar.
Norby was excited already; and now when Einar came, too, perhaps to interfere, he felt inclined to give the boy a thrashing.
They both stopped within a few steps of one another. Einar was very pale.
“Is that you?” said the old man, attempting to laugh. He knew that people could see them from the window.