He had all the weights in his head, and gave the figures, while the old man put them down. In the midst of this he suddenly realized that the cart had disappeared. He rushed out, and down in the other yard found two men engaged in unloading the cart. For the second time today Lars Peter lost his temper. "See and get those things on to the cart again," he shouted, picking up his whip. The two men hastily took his measure; then without a word reloaded the cart.
He was no longer in doubt that they would cheat him. The cursed knaves! If they had emptied it all out on to the heap, then he could have whistled for his own price. He drove the cart right up to the office door, and kept the reins on his arm. The old fox stood by his desk, looking at him out of the corners of his eyes. "Were they taking your beautiful horse from you?" he asked innocently.
"No, 'twas something else they wanted to have their fingers in," growled Lars Peter; he would show them that he could be sarcastic too. "Now then, will you buy the goods or not?"
"Of course we'll buy them. Look here, I've reckoned it all up. It'll be exactly fifty-six crowns—highest market price."
"Oh, go to the devil with your highest market price!" Lars Peter began mounting the cart again.
The old man looked at him in surprise through his spectacles: "Then you won't sell?"
"No, that I won't. I'd rather take it home again—and get double the price."
"Well, if you say so of course—Lars Peter Hansen's no cheat. But what are we to do, my man? My conscience won't allow me to send you dragging those things home again—it would be a crime to this beautiful horse." He approached the nag as if to pat it, but Klavs laid back his ears and lashed his tail. This praise of his horse softened Lars Peter, and the end of it was that he let the load go for ninety crowns. A cigar was thrown into the bargain. "It's from the cheap box, so please don't light it until you get outside the gate," said the impudent old knave. "Come again soon!"
Thanks! It would be some time before he came here again—a pack of robbers! He asked the way to an inn in Vestergade, where people from his neighborhood generally stayed, and there he unharnessed.
The yard was full of vehicles. Farmers with pipes hanging from their lips and fur-coats unbuttoned were loading their wagons. Here and there between the vehicles were loiterers, with broad gold chains across their chest and half-closed eyes. One of them came up to Lars Peter. "Are you doing anything tonight?" said he. "There's a couple of us here—retired farmers—going to have a jolly evening together. We want a partner." He drew a pack of cards from his breast-pocket, and began shuffling them.