“When did you come to these conclusions?”
“When? Just now, sir! just now! And I trust these conclusions are worth considering, in spite of that. But I discovered something else; you are an ignoramus; you can’t spell! Look at this! What’s written here? Read it! ‘We hope that all those who will have to go through their drill next year. …’ Is it possible? ‘Who … next year. …’ ”
“Well, that’s quite right,” said Falk.
“Right? How dare you say it’s right? It’s customary to say who in the next year, and consequently it should also be written in this form.”
“That’s right, too; definitions of time govern either the accusative or. …”
“None of your learned palaver! Don’t talk nonsense to me! Besides this you spell ‘ex-ercise’ with an x only, although it should be spelt ex-sercise. Don’t make excuses—is it ‘ex-ercise’ or ‘ex-sercise’?”
“Of course people say. …”
“People say—therefore ex-sercise is right; the customary pronunciation must be correct. Perhaps, all things considered, I’m a fool? Perhaps I can’t spell correctly? But enough, now! Get to work and another time pay a little more attention to the clock.”
He jumped up from his chair with a yell, and boxed the ears of the printer’s boy.
“Are you sleeping in bright daylight, you young scamp? I’ll teach you to keep awake. You are not yet too old for a thrashing.”
He seized the victim by the braces, threw him on a pile of unsold papers, and beat him with his belt.
“I wasn’t asleep! I wasn’t asleep! I was only closing my eyes a little,” howled the boy.
“What, you dare to deny it? You’ve learned to lie, but I will teach you to speak the truth! Were you asleep or were you not asleep? Tell the truth or you’ll be sorry for it.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” whimpered the boy, too young and inexperienced to get over his difficulty by telling a lie.
“I see, you mean to stand by your lie, you hardened little devil! You insolent liar!”
He was going to continue the thrashing when Falk rose, approached the editor, and said firmly:
“Don’t touch him! I saw that he was not asleep!”
“By jove! Listen to him! Who the dickens are you? Don’t touch him! Who said those words? I must have heard a gnat buzzing. Or perhaps my ears deceived me. I hope so! I do hope so! Mr. Ygberg! You are a decent fellow. You haven’t been to college. Did you happen to see whether this boy, whom I’m holding by the braces like a fish, was asleep or not?”
“If he wasn’t asleep,” replied Ygberg, phlegmatically and obligingly, “he was just on the point of dropping off.”
“Well answered! Would you mind holding him, Mr. Ygberg, while I give him a lesson with my cane in telling the truth?”
“You’ve no right to beat him,” said Falk. “If you dare to touch him, I shall open the window and call for the police.”
“I am master in my own house and I always thrash my apprentices. He is an apprentice and will be employed in the editorial office later on. That’s what’s going to be done, although there are people who imagine that a paper can only be properly edited by a man who has been to college. Speak up, Gustav, are you learning newspaper work? Answer, but tell the truth, or. …”
Before the boy had time to reply, the door was opened and a head looked in—a very striking head, and certainly not one that might have been expected in such a place; but it was a well-known head; it had been painted five times.
At the sight of it the editor strapped his belt round him, hastily put on his coat, bowed and smiled.
The visitor asked whether the editor was disengaged? He received a satisfactory reply, and the last remnant of the working man disappeared when a quick movement swept the communard’s cap off the editor’s head.
Both men went into an inner office and the door closed behind them.
“I wonder what the Count’s after?” said Ygberg, with the air of a schoolboy, when the master had left the classroom.
“I don’t wonder in the least,” said Falk; “I think I know the kind of rascal he is, and the kind of rascal the editor is. But I am surprised to find that you have changed from a mere blockhead into an infamous wretch, and that you lend yourself to these disgraceful acts.”
“Don’t lose your temper, my dear fellow! You were not at the House last night?”
“No! In my opinion Parliament is a farce, except in so far as private interests are concerned. What about the Triton?”
“The question was put to the vote, and it was resolved that the government, in view of the greatness, the patriotism, which characterized the enterprise, should take over the debentures while the society went into liquidation, that is to say, settled the current affairs.”
“Which means that government will prop up the house while the foundation crumbles away, so as to give the directors time to get out of harm’s way.”
“You would rather that all those small. …”
“I know what you are going to say, all those small capitalists. Yes, I would rather see them working with their small capital than idling away their time and lending it out at interest; but, above all things, I should like to see those sharpers in prison; it would help to put a stop to these swindles. But they call it political economy! It’s vile! There’s something else I want to say: You covet my post. You shall have it! I hate the idea of your sitting in your corner with a heart filled with bitterness, because you have to sweep up after me in reading proofs. There are already too many of my unprinted articles lying on the desk of this contemptible apostle of liberty to tempt me to go on telling cock-and-bull stories. The Red Cap was too Conservative to please me, but the People’s Flag is too dirty.”
“I am glad to see you relinquishing your chimeras and listening to common sense. Go to the
