“Good-morning, dear old Oskar!”
Old Selamb grunted something in his beard. He did not seem specially pleased at the meeting.
“How are things with you, old friend? I am ashamed that I have not been to see you for such a long time.”
The invalid was still not interested. Peter had to intervene.
“It’s William. Don’t you see, father, that it is William who has been so good to us all?”
“Yes, Oskar, you recognise old William, don’t you?”
Old Selamb seemed to be growing impatient. He looked critically at his old friend:
“Seedy,” he muttered, “damned seedy.”
Peter did not like the turn the conversation had taken.
He suddenly sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to old Hermansson. Then he looked his father full in the eyes, touched his pocket and showed the corner of a paper bag. Then the invalid’s face suddenly assumed a keen, wide-awake and almost human expression, and he stretched out a trembling hand to his son: