He gazed abstractedly; he repeated his speech to himself. It was always altered, and now he stood again at the ticklish point—the amount. He considered if perhaps he only needed to ask for four—three?
There was a growling out in the hall; the dog rushed out, barking loudly. It was plainly the captain.
The young man rose hurriedly, but sat down again like a spring ready to jump up out of a chair: he had been in too great haste.
"In the parlor—some sort of fellow who wants to talk with me?" It was out on the stairs that some one was speaking.
A moment or two later, and the captain appeared in the door.
"I must beg you to excuse me, Captain. I have unfortunately, unfortunately"—here he began to stammer; bad luck would have it that one of the two young girls whom he had seen in the summer-house, the dark one, came in after her father; and so it would not do—"come over the mountain," he continued. "You will understand that one cannot exactly appear in the best plight." The last came in a tone of forced ease.
The captain at that moment did not appear exactly agreeably surprised.
"My name is Arent Grip!"
"Arent Grip!" rejoined the captain, looking at him. "Grip! the same phiz and eyes! You can never be the son of Perpetuum—cadet at Lurleiken? He is a farmer, or proprietor I suppose he calls himself, somewhere among the fjords."