“Do they have holidays here?” asked the novice, surprised.
“Certainly, Jon Jonson wants to go home and plant his potatoes.”
The platform down below was now beginning to fill with young men armed with pen and paper. All of them were old acquaintances from the time when Falk was a government official. They took their seats at little tables as if they were going to play “Preference.”
“Those are the clerks,” explained the Red Cap; “they appear to recognize you.”
And they really did; they put on their eyeglasses and stared at the pigeon house with the condescension vouchsafed in a theatre by the occupants of the stalls to the occupants of the galleries. They whispered among themselves, evidently discussing an absent acquaintance who, from unmistakable evidence, must have been sitting on the chair occupied by Falk. The latter was so deeply touched by the general interest that he looked with anything but a friendly eye on Struve, who was entering the pigeon house, reserved, unembarrassed, dirty and a conservative.
The chief clerk read a petition, or a resolution, to grant the necessary money for the provision of new door mats and new brass numbers on the lockers destined for the reception of overshoes.
Granted!
“Where is the opposition?” asked the tyro.
“The devil knows!”
“But they say Yes to everything!”
“Wait a little and you’ll see!”
“Haven’t they come yet?”
“Here everyone comes and goes as he pleases.”
“But this is the Government Offices all over again!”
The conservative Struve, who had heard the frivolous words, thought it incumbent on him to take up the cudgels for the government.
“What is this, little Falk is saying?” he asked. “He mustn’t growl here.”
It took Falk so long to find a suitable reply that the discussions down below had started in the meantime.
“Don’t mind him,” said the Red Cap, soothingly; “he’s invariably a conservative when he has the price of a dinner in his pocket, and he’s just borrowed a fiver from me.”
The chief clerk was reading: 54. Report of the Committee on Ola Hipsson’s motion to remove the fences.
Timber merchant Larsson from Norrland demanded acceptance as it stood. “What is to become of our forests?” he burst out. “I ask you, what is to become of our forests?” And he threw himself on his bench, puffing.
This racy eloquence had gone out of fashion during the last few years, and the words were received with hisses, after which the puffing on the Norrland bench ceased.
The representative for Öland suggested sandstone walls; Scania’s delegate preferred box; Norbotten’s opined that fences were unnecessary where there were no fields, and a member on the Stockholm bench proposed that the matter should be referred to a Committee of experts: he laid stress on “experts.” A violent scene followed. Death rather than a committee! The question was put to the vote. The motion was rejected; the fences would remain standing until they decayed.
The chief clerk was reading: 66. Report of the Committee on Carl Jönsson’s proposition to intercept the moneys for the Bible Commission. At the sound of the venerable name of an institution a hundred years old, even the smiles died away and a respectful silence ensued. Who would dare to attack religion in its very foundation, who would dare to face universal contempt? The Bishop of Ystad asked permission to speak.
“Shall I write?” asked Falk.
“No, what he says doesn’t concern us.”
But the conservative Struve took down the following notes:
Sacred. Int. Mother country. United names religion humanity 829, 1632. Unbelief. Mania for innovations. God’s word. Man’s word. Centen. Ansgar. Zeal. Honesty. Fairplay. Capac. Doctrine. Exist. Swed. Chch. Immemorial Swed. Honour. Gustavus I. Gustavus Adolphus. Hill Lûtzen. Eyes Europe. Verdict posterity. Mourning. Shame. Green fields. Wash my hands. They would not hear.
Carl Jönsson held the floor.
“Now it’s our turn!” said the Red Cap.
And they wrote while Struve embroidered the Bishop’s velvet.
Twaddle. Big words. Commission sat for a hundred years. Costs 100,000 Crowns. 9 archbishops. 30 Prof. Upsala. Together 500 years. Dietaries. Secretaries. Amanuenses. Done nothing. Proof sheet. Bad work. Money money money. Everything by its right name. Humbug. Official sucking-system.
No one else spoke but when the question was put to the vote, the motion was accepted.
While the Red Cap with practised hand smoothed Jönsson’s stumbling speech, and provided it with a strong title, Falk took a rest. Accidentally scanning the strangers’ gallery, his gaze fell on a well-known head, resting on the rail and belonging to Olle Montanus. At the moment he had the appearance of a dog, carefully watching a bone; and he was not there without a very definite reason, but Falk was in the dark. Olle was very secretive.
From the end of the bench, just below the right gallery, on the very spot where the abject individual’s pencil chips had fluttered down, a man now arose. He wore a blue uniform, had a three-cornered hat tucked under his arm and held a roll of paper in his hand.
The hammer fell and an ironical, malicious silence followed.
“Write,” said the Red Cap; “take down the figures, I’ll do the rest.”
“Who is it?”
“These are Royal propositions.”
The man in blue was reading from the paper roll: “H.M. most gracious proposition; to increase the funds of the department assisting young men of birth in the study of foreign languages, under the heading of stationery and sundry expenses, from 50,000 crowns to 56,000 crowns 37 öre.”
“What are sundry expenses?” asked Falk.
“Water bottles, umbrella stands, spittoons, Venetian blinds, dinners, tips and so on. Be quiet, there’s more to come!”
The paper roll went on: “H.M. most gracious proposition to create sixty new commissions in the West-Gotic cavalry.”
“Did he say sixty?” asked Falk, who was unfamiliar with public affairs.
“Sixty, yes; write it down.”
The paper roll opened out and grew bigger and bigger. “H.M. most gracious proposition to create five new regular clerkships in the Board of Payment of Employees’ Salaries.”
Great excitement at the Preference tables; great excitement on Falk’s chair.
Now the paper roll rolled itself up; the chairman rose and thanked the reader with
