Three further pieces were granted Sivert on the same grounds, of serving somebody right. He laughed and cried and stuffed his mouth all at the same time.
“You’re a funny sort of deaf-and-dumb lad, you are. What’s your name?”
“Well, I’m mostly Olsen, really,” said Sivert, fumbling at the place where the precious book was hidden. “But I’m not all deaf and dumb. Not quite....”
“Well, I said you were half a lunatic.”
“... Or I couldn’t sing, you know.”
“Let’s hear you sing.” The barmaiden surveyed her work of art in its entirety, until it seemed as if her eyes would turn back to front in their sockets.
“Well, I can, you know....” said Sivert hesitatingly.
The barmaid pointed to another piece—cheese it was this time—with her little finger. Sivert pounced on it at once.
Then he wiped his mouth, wrinkled up his forehead thoughtfully, and rattled off at a furious rate: