And he puffed a spurt of smoke into Egholm’s face, his own contracting into an unconcealed grin.
“My father, the Angel, was standing in his office, and he saw it. It isn’t everyone that can see it, you know. But I could. It was the hugest star I’ve ever seen.”
Egholm condescended to shake his head as if deeply impressed. For the rest, his every nerve-cell was concentrating in an effort to hypnotise Karlsen’s hand into Karlsen’s pocket for that bundle of notes.
At eleven minutes past seven the Evangelist laid down his pipe and buttoned his coat.
“The money! Er—you’ll excuse me, but—you’re not forgetting ... that gift.... No hurry, of course, not in the least....”
“You shall have it. I’m not forgetting it, no,” said Karlsen, with unction. “It’s not a great sum, but with the blessing of the Lord it may go a long way.”
He drew out a leather purse with a string from his pocket, unfastened the lace with exasperating care, and flung out a hand with a two-kroner piece.
“Two kroner! Is that—the gift? Karlsen, you don’t mean it!” said Egholm, weeping.
“One daler, yes,” said Karlsen, laughing heartily. But his expression changed suddenly, possibly influenced by Egholm’s threatening look, and, resuming his dignified manner, he went on: