And he who turned a deaf ear to her prayers was one who had sorrowed and yearned for a whole year. A few months ago, when his heart was still athrob with life, perhaps he would not have said no to her pleadings; but now at a time when everything seemed to be prospering with him, his heart had become hardened. Even the outward appearance of the man showed that a great change had taken place within. He had acquired plump cheeks, a double chin, and a heavy black moustache. His eyes bulged from their sockets, and there was a cold fixed stare about them. His nose, too, looked more prominent than of yore and had taken on a more patrician mold. His hair seemed to be entirely gone; not one hair stuck out from under the leather cap.
The engineer had kept an eye on the man from the day of their first talk in the summer. It was no longer an intense yearning that made Jan haunt the pier. Now he hardly glanced toward the boat. He came only to meet people who humoured his mania, who called him “Emperor” just for the sport of hearing him sing and narrate his wild fancies.
But why be annoyed at that? thought the engineer. The man was a lunatic of course. But perhaps the madness need never have become so firmly fixed as it was then. If someone had ruthlessly yanked Jan of Ruffluck down off his imperial throne in the beginning possibly he could have been saved.
The engineer flashed the man a challenging glance. Jan looked condescendingly regretful, but remained adamant as before.
In that fine land of Portugallia there were only princes and generals, to be sure—only richly dressed people. Mad Ingeborg in her old cotton headshawl and her knit jacket would naturally be out of place there. But Heavenly Father! the engineer actually thought—
Engineer Boraeus looked just then as if he would have liked to give Jan a needed lesson, but he only shrugged his shoulders. He knew he was not the right person for that, and would simply make bad worse. Quietly withdrawing from the crowd, he walked down to the end of the pier just as the boat hove into view from behind the nearest point.
Deposed
Long before his marriage to Anna Ericsdotter of Falla, Lars Gunnarson happened one day to be present at an auction sale.
The parties who held the auction were poor folk who probably had no tempting wares to offer the bargain seekers, for the bidding had been slow, and the sales poor. They had a right to expect better results, with Jöns of Kisterud as auctioneer. Jöns was such a capital funmaker that people used to attend all auctions at which he officiated just for the pleasure of listening to him. Although he got off all his usual quips and jokes, he could not seem to infuse any life into the bidders on this occasion. At last, not knowing what else he could do, he put down his hammer saying he was too hoarse to do any more crying.
“The senator will have to get someone else to offer the wares,” he told Carl Carlson of Storvik, who stood sponsor for the auction. “I’ve shouted myself hoarse at these stone images standing around me, and will have to go home and keep my mouth shut for a few weeks, till I can get back my voice.”
It was a serious matter for the senator to be left without a crier, when most of the lots were still unsold; so he tried to persuade Jöns to continue. But it was plain that Jöns could not afford to hurt his professional standing by holding a poor auction, and therefore he became so hoarse all at once that he could not even speak in a whisper. He only wheezed.
“Perhaps there is someone here who will cry out the wares for a moment, while Jöns is resting?” said the senator, looking out over the crowd without much hope of finding a helper.
Then Lars Gunnarson pushed his way forward and said he was willing to try. Carl Carlson only laughed at Lars, who at that time looked like a mere stripling, and told him he did not want a small boy who had not even been confirmed. Whereupon Lars promptly informed Carl Carlson that he had not only been confirmed but had also performed military service. He begged so eagerly to be allowed to wield the hammer that the senator finally gave way to him.
“We may as well let you try your hand at it for a while,” he said. “I dare say it can’t go any worse than it has gone so far.”
Lars promptly stepped into Jöns’s place. He took up an old butter tub to offer it—hesitated and just stood there looking at it, turning the tub up and down, tapping on its bottom and sides. Apparently surprised not to find any flaws in it, he presently offered the lot in a reluctant tone of voice, as if distressed at having to sell so valuable an article. For his part, he would rather that no bids be made, he said. It would be lucky for the owner if no one discovered what a precious butter tub this was, for then he could keep it.
And now, when bid followed bid, everybody noticed how disappointed Lars looked. It was all very well so long as the bids were so low as to be beneath his notice; but when they began to mount higher and higher, his face became distorted from chagrin. He seemed
