“Listen, dear friends,” continued the joiner, reeling from side to side. “We are all mortal, and we all love our native country. I do not say fatherland; I say native country. We do not know where our fathers came from, but we know where we were born ourselves—”
“What nonsense is this?” whispered Niels, who grasped the situation and was ready to fight.
“Who is that man?” asked the joiner, trying to fix his bleary gaze on Niels and holding fast to his neighbor’s shoulder. “Is that a man who will not drink to his native country? If he is, then I say: 'Fie, for shame,’ say I.”
Niels looked meaningly at Björn.
“Shall we clear the place and take Stine with us?”
Björn motioned to him. But one of the guests who supported the joiner heard what Niels said. He drew away his shoulder, the joiner fell to the floor, and in a minute the place was in an uproar. Every one spoke or screamed at once. Niels had already collared the jailer. Then, at this highly critical moment, the sense of duty of the women of the old days awoke in Stine. She placed herself by the side of her chosen lord and master and announced that “she would sail to Jutland with him rather than have a fight on her wedding day.” That settled the matter. The joiner was carried into the next room and put to bed, the guests shook hands cordially and drank one another’s health. Niels and Björn became most amiable at once, and Niels ordered more punch. The innkeeper made the best of a bad business, and peace settled down on the spirits of the company.
Then the party broke up.
In his delight at his victory Björn invited the entire party, even to the jailer, to take a sail on the “Flying Fish.” He would put them ashore at the limekilns when they had had enough, he said.
The invitation was accepted, probably in the desire not to disturb the nearly sealed peace. But when they all came up out of the Gilded Tarpot, the fresh air and the sunshine, or the joy of his own victory, or the feelings of a bridegroom, or all of them at once, so overcame Björn that he took Stine round the waist and swore he would dance a waltz with her then and there. Which he did, in spite of her obstinate protest, to the great delight of the passers-by. Then he dropped Stine, and, seizing the jailer, danced a polka with him. He next insisted upon carrying off a sentry-box to try the sentry’s gun on the Amalienplads. But this last was too much for the military feelings of the jailer. He declared it “scandalous” and walked away as red in the face as a lobster, and took the innkeeper with him. At the next corner was a flaring menagerie poster, with pictures of elephants, monkeys, and bears. These last caught Björn’s attention; he declared that he must go and see his cousins perform, and the wedding guests had difficulty in getting him away safely. By this time quite a crowd had collected, which listened with interest to the lively remarks made by the big fisherman, and when at last, to the immense delight of the crowd, he gave a plastic imitation of a dancing bear, the rest of the invited guests fled, and an assemblage of those not invited followed Björn, Niels, and Stine down to the harbor.
“Come, now, Björn, keep quiet,” said Niels, soothingly, as a policeman appeared interested in their movements.