The cab rumbles away; Olof leans back, feeling himself again.
* * * * *
Through a gateway into a cobbled yard. The driver gets down, and Olof follows suit. The man knocks with the handle of his whip at a door.
"'Tis no good coming at this time—the girls aren't here yet." And the door is slammed in his face.
"Drive on, then! Drive to the devil, only let's get out of this," cries Olof.
"Nay, nay, no call to give up now we're on the way." The driver swings out into the street again, and tries another entrance of the same sort farther on.
Olof stood half-dazed, waiting.
This time the knock was answered by a girl's voice, bright and pleasant. The driver and the girl exchanged whispers through the door. "Sober? Ay, he's sober enough. Young chap, and plenty of money—wants the best sort."
Olof's blood boiled. Was he to be bargained for like a beast in the cattle market? He was on the point of calling the man away, when the door opened a little. "Right you are, then," said the man, with a knowing gleam in his eyes.
"Good evening—won't you come in?" A young girl, neatly dressed, held the door open for Olof with a smile.