“Will you have some coffee?” she asked, handing him the tray.
While he sat with the tray in front of him on the counterpane, Fru Wangen drew up the blinds to let in the wealth of snow-light from the bright winter’s morning. Shortly after she turned to him saying: “I got such a fright this morning.”
“You got a fright?” he said, as he gulped down his coffee.
“Yes. There was a man sitting on the steps when I opened the door; and I couldn’t help being frightened, for it was the tailor.”
“What?” he cried, putting down the cup.
“He must be mad. He’s still sitting there. He said he would wait until you came down.”
“Can’t you get rid of the fellow?” he said angrily.
“No. He said he’d sit there now until you came. I’m at my wits’ end!”
It was the old tailor, who had lost by the bankruptcy all his savings, upon which Wangen had promised him such good interest. He came almost every day and wanted to speak to Wangen; but the latter was afraid of him, because his eyes had latterly acquired such a wild expression.
It was not this tailor only who was constantly reminding him of the sad consequences of his failure. He received despairing letters, begging him for only a third of the money that had been entrusted to him; and letters that threatened and cursed him. People were continually coming to the house with tears and threats. It was enough to make one mad.