She laid a restraining hand on his arm, for he had already opened the big plate-glass door of the shop and was stepping in. There was nothing for the others to do but follow. By the time they were all inside he was over at the counter talking to a young clerk.
“No, thank you, I don’t wish to buy anything,” he said. “But, seeing so many choice things in the window, I thought I’d just step in and ask if I might also have a peep at the fine wares you have in the shop.”
The clerk looked a bit uneasy, and seemed at a loss what to reply. Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa now stood with their hands on the Lieutenant’s shoulders, trying to drag him away.
The goldsmith himself presently emerged from an inner room. He had evidently heard them come in, and probably thought he would do a brisk trade. Placing himself beside the clerk, he put the flat of his hands on the counter and inquired invitingly what was desired.
Lieutenant Lagerlöf repeated in substance what he had said to the clerk—that he would very much like to see the beautiful wares in the place though he could not afford to purchase any.
The goldsmith cocked his head and looked at the Lieutenant out of the corner of his eye.
“The gentleman, I take it, is a Värmlander?” he said.
“Hell, yes, of course I’m a Värmlander!” the Lieutenant wagged back. “What the deuce else should I be?”
Then everybody roared. The clerks all crowded round the Lieutenant, and from the inner rooms came a finely dressed woman—the wife of the goldsmith—who wanted to know what the fun was about.
Fru Lagerlöf and Mamselle Lovisa were so mortified they could have wished themselves back in the jolting carriage on the Karlstad road, or the rocking boat on stormy Vänern—anywhere but in that fine shop!