“Ah, well,” said Egholm, discomfited, “you wait and see.”
He walked a few paces, swinging his stick, then turned and called back to them:
“You wait and see when it comes! I’m getting the money now—three or four hundred kroner. From Odense. It’s money I was done out of under false pretences. And I’m going to have the law of them....”
The woollen jerseys seemed to betray a seething and bubbling within. The men could contain themselves no longer. Suddenly Peder Kvabs hoisted his slacks, and led the whole flock hastily into the nearest café. There was no need to ask should they go; all felt it was a simple necessity.
“Yes,” said Egholm to himself. “That’s what I’ll do. They couldn’t give it against me if I went to law.”
But he felt sorely in need of someone who would have faith in him, and he longed for Henrik Vang’s ever-ready admiration. Might just slip up to his room....
Fru Vang kept a quiet little boarding-house for a few old bachelors who had taken the best rooms of the house. She and Vang himself occupied separate attics.
Vang was in bed, with half an inch of reddish stubble on his chin, and the hair on his forehead clammy with feverish sweat.
“Why, what’s this?” cried Egholm, aghast. “Are you ill? And I’d never heard a word.... A great strong fellow like you! What’s the matter?”