With a stiff expression of disapproval, Herman sat and listened to Peter’s disclosures concerning Laura. But he listened all the same—he couldn’t help it—till at last he banged his fist on the table so that the glasses jumped:
“Be quiet,” he shrieked, “she is the mother of my child!”
Peter sat for a moment puzzled, he gasped and blinked his eyes. Laura was evidently played out. He must change his front:
“Herman, you are a gentleman,” he muttered at last, admiringly, “I’ll be damned if you are not a gentleman.”
What was Peter the Boss to do now with all the vague emotions that rose in his massive body? Some use must be made of this beautiful intoxication. Yes, move at once to the other extreme. He overflowed with sympathy and brotherhood and memories from boyhood. “Do you remember when it rained and we were playing in the loft at home?” “Do you remember when we climbed into the rigging down in the shipyard?” “Yes, that was in the good old days, old boy!” “We have had a damned fine time together all the same!”
Here Peter’s eyes filled with tears and he slapped the old fellow on the back and swore that a helping hand from Peter the Boss would not be lacking. Herman made no opposition. He suddenly looked terribly tired. He had been so utterly, miserably lonely. Though he still felt suspicious he had no longer strength to resist. Peter overpowered him by his sheer weight.
Peter forgot to remove his hand from Herman’s shoulder. He felt a great, vague exaltation. At that moment he really loved his dear old Herman. He felt an irresistible desire to do something for him. The observatory, Majängen and his errand to Ekbacken: all were forgotten in this moment:
“Look here, Herman,” he muttered in a thick voice, “I saw little Georg the other day. In his fourth year. Sailor blouse and a whistle on a white cord. Your image. Wouldn’t you like to have a look at him? Laura is going away, so it is easy to arrange. He can stay for a few days with the nurse at Selambshof. That’s not a bad idea, eh? Now do say yes!”
Herman had not wanted to see his child. In his injured pride he had refused for three years to allow himself that crumb of comfort. Yes, he had almost imagined that he hated the baby. Now he sank down with his hands in front of his face:
“Tomorrow,” he muttered. “Tomorrow, before I change my mind.”