“They’re not so bad—sound enough—only want a coat of paint.”
The doctor whistled a little tune and flicked the mare again.
“Well, I hope the young shaver won’t give his mother too much trouble,” he said. “Here we are.”
A skinny little boy, who had been sliding up and down the back seat of the gig, sprang out and held the horse’s head. Andreas went straight into the dining-room and left the servant girl to take the doctor upstairs. He sat down, poured out some coffee, and bit through half a roll before helping himself to fish. Then he noticed there was no hot plate for the fish—the whole house was at sixes and sevens. He rang the bell, but the servant girl came in with a tray holding a bowl of soup and a hot plate.
“I’ve been keeping them on the stove,” she simpered.
“Ah, thanks, that’s very kind of you.” As he swallowed the soup his heart warmed to this fool of a girl.
“Oh, it’s a good thing Doctor Erb has come,” volunteered the servant girl, who was bursting for want of sympathy.
“H’m, h’m,” said Andreas.
She waited a moment, expectantly, rolling her eyes, then in full loathing of menkind went back to the kitchen and vowed herself to sterility.
Andreas cleared the soup bowl, and cleared the fish. As he ate, the room slowly darkened. A faint wind sprang up and beat the tree branches against the window. The dining-room looked over the breakwater of the harbour, and the sea swung heavily in rolling waves. Wind crept round the house, moaning drearily.