“Where’s Erik?”
“He must be in his room.”
The bailiff went in through the horse-stable, something in his carriage showing that he was not altogether unprepared for an attack from behind. Erik was in bed, with the quilt drawn up to his eyes.
“What’s the meaning of this? Are you ill?” asked the bailiff.
“Yes, I think I’ve caught cold, I’m shivering so.” He tried to make his teeth chatter.
“It isn’t the rot, I hope?” said the bailiff sympathetically. “Let’s look at you a little, poor fellow.” He whipped off the quilt. “Oho, so you’re in bed with your best things on—and top-boots! It’s your grave-clothes, perhaps? And I suppose you were going out to order a pauper’s grave for yourself, weren’t you? It’s time we got you put underground, too; seems to me you’re beginning to smell already!” He sniffed at him once or twice.
But Erik sprang out of bed as if shot by a spring, and stood erect close to him. “I’m not dead yet, and perhaps I don’t smell any more than some other people!” he said, his eyes flashing and looking about for a weapon.
The bailiff felt his hot breath upon his face, and knew it would not do to draw back. He planted his fist in the man’s stomach, so that he fell back upon the bed and gasped for breath; and then held him down with a hand upon his chest. He was burning with a desire to do more, to drive his fist into the face of this rascal, who grumbled whenever one’s back was turned, and had to be driven to every little task. Here was all the servant-worry that embittered his existence —dissatisfaction with the fare, cantankerousness in work, threats of leaving when things were at their busiest—difficulties without end. Here was the slave of many years of worry and ignominy, and all he wanted was one little pretext—a blow from this big fellow who never used his strength for work, but only to take the lead in all disturbances.
But Erik lay quite still and looked at his enemy with watchful eye. “You may hit me, if you like. There is such a thing as a magistrate in the country,” he said, with irritating calm. The bailiff’s muscles burned, but he was obliged to let the man go for fear of being summoned. “Then remember another time not to be fractious!” he said, letting go his hold, “or I’ll show you that there is a magistrate.”
“When Lasse comes, send him up to me with the gin!” he said to the men as he passed through the barn.