Shallow Soil | Page 6

auspiciously and was still in force, although people were at a loss to understand how it could possibly last. Tidemand himself did not conceal his astonishment over the fact that his wife had managed to tolerate him so long. He had been a bachelor too long, had travelled too much, lived too much in hotels; he admitted it himself. He liked to ring whenever he wanted anything; he preferred his meals served at all hours, whenever he took a notion, no matter if it happened to be meal-time or not. And Tidemand went into details: he could not bear to have his wife serve him his soup, for instance--was it possible for a woman, even with the best intention in the world, to divine how much soup he might want?
And, on the other side, there was Mrs. Hanka, an artistic nature, two and twenty, fond of life and audacious as a boy. Mrs. Hanka was greatly gifted and warmly interested in many things; she was a welcome guest wherever the youthful assembled, whether in homes or bachelor dens; nobody could resist her. No, she did not greatly care for home life or house drudgery. She could not help that; unfortunately she had not inherited these tastes. And this unbearable blessing, of a child every year two years running, drove her almost to distraction. Good Lord! she was only a child herself, full of life and frivolity; her youth was ahead of her. But pursuant to the arrangement the couple had made last year, Mrs. Hanka now found it unnecessary to place any restraint upon herself....
Tidemand entered the warehouse. A cool and tart smell of tropical products, of coffee and oils and wines, filled the atmosphere. Tall piles of tea-boxes, bundles of cinnamon sewn in bast, fruits, rice, spices, mountains of flour-sacks--everything had its designated place, from floor to roof. In one of the corners a stairway led to the cellar, where venerable hogsheads of wine with copper bands could be glimpsed in the half-light and where enormous metal tanks rested in massive repose.
Tidemand nodded to the busy warehousemen, walked across the floor, and peeped through the pane into the little office. Ole was there. He was revising an account on a slate.
Ole put the slate down immediately and rose to meet his friend.
These two men had known each other since childhood, had gone through the business college together, and shared with each other their happiest moments. Even now, when they were competitors, they continued to visit each other as often as their work would permit. They did not envy each other; the business spirit had made them broad-minded and generous; they toyed with ship-loads, dealt in large amounts, had daily before their eyes enormous successes or imposing ruin.
Once Tidemand had expressed admiration for a little yacht which Ole Henriksen owned. It was two years ago, when it was known that the Tidemand firm had suffered heavy losses in a fish exportation. The yacht lay anchored just outside the Henriksen warehouse and attracted much attention because of its beautiful lines. The masthead was gilded.
Tidemand said:
"This is the most beautiful little dream I have ever seen, upon my word!"
Ole Henriksen answered modestly:
"I do not suppose I could get a thousand for her if I were to sell her."
"I'll give you a thousand," offered Tidemand.
Pause. Ole smiled.
"Cash?" he asked.
"Yes; I happen to have it with me."
And Tidemand took out his pocketbook and paid over the money.
This occurred in the warehouse. The clerks laughed, whispered, and wondered.
A few days later Ole went over to Tidemand's office and said:
"I don't suppose you would take two thousand for the yacht?"
"Have you got the money with you?"
"Yes; it just happens that I have."
"All right," said Tidemand.
And the yacht was Ole's once more....
Tidemand had called on Ole now in order to pass away an hour or so. The two friends were no longer children; they treated each other with the greatest courtesy and were sincerely fond of each other.
Ole got hold of Tidemand's hat and cane, which he put away, at the same time pointing his friend to a seat on the little sofa.
"What may I offer you?" he asked.
"Thanks--nothing," said Tidemand. "I have just had my dinner at the Grand."
Ole placed the flat box with Havanas before him and asked again:
"A little glass? An 1812?"
"Well, thank you, yes. But never mind; it is too much trouble; you have to go down-stairs for it."
"Nonsense; no trouble at all!"
Ole brought the bottle from the cellar; it was impossible to tell what it was; the bottle appeared to be made of some coarse cloth, so deeply covered with dust was it. The wine was chilled and sparkling, it beaded in the glass, and Ole said:
"Here you are; drink hearty, Andreas!"
They drank. A pause ensued.
"I have really come to congratulate you,"