Garman And Worse A Norwegian Novel by Alexander Lange Kielland (year 2 reading books .txt) 📖

The Whole House In an Uproar. On The Second Floor

The Furniture Was Being Moved,  Dusting Was Going On,  And Candles Were

Being Put In The Chandeliers. Downstairs The Table Was Already Laid For

Supper; Only The Old Gentlemen'S Bedrooms And The Offices Were

Respected; And In The Window Of The Still-Room He Noticed Jellies And

Blancmanges,  Which Had Been Put There To Cool.

 

"Oh Dear Me! What A Bustle It All Is!" Said Mrs. Garman,  Faintly.

 

She Had Had Her Armchair Moved Into A Room At The Side Of The Kitchen,

Where The Dishing-Up Was Done.

 

Here She Remained The Whole Day,  And Had Samples Of Everything That Was

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Cooked In The Kitchen Brought To Her. The Kitchen-Maids Were As Nervous

As If They Had Been Undergoing An Examination.

 

Miss Cordsen Was Everywhere,  Prim And Noiseless As Usual,  And Without

Wasting A Word,  She Gave An Eye To The Vast Amount Of Knives And Forks,

Lights And Silver,  Glass And China. Everything Was Arranged In Her

Experienced Head,  From The Ladies' Cloak-Room To The Supper For The

Musicians.

 

But If There Was A Busy Stir In The House,  It Was Even Greater Down At

The Ship-Yard. Tom Robson Had Kept His Promise,  And The Ship Stood Trim

And Ready,  "As A Bride," As He Put It. And Now The Whole Staff Of

Workmen Were Occupied In Getting Everything In Order For The Morrow,  And

Clearing Out The Yard,  So That It Might Look Tidy And Neat When All The

Visitors Came To See The Ship "Go."

 

"What Time Will It Be High Water,  Mr. Robson?" Asked The Young Consul,

As He And Uncle Richard Were Making An Inspection Of The Ship-Yard In

The Afternoon.

 

"At Half-Past Ten,  Sir," Answered The Foreman.

 

"Very Well,  Then,  Let Me See That You Have Everything Ready To-Morrow At

Half-Past Ten,  On The Stroke,  You Understand--At Half-Past Ten On The

Stroke."

 

"All Right,  Sir!" Said Mr. Robson,  Touching His Cap.

 

But Tom Robson Was Not Going To Leave Anything Till The Morning. That

Evening He Had Every Intention Of Making A Night Of It,  And Martin Had

Already Got The Money To Make Some Extensive Purchases. There Would Be

Time Enough To Sleep It Off Before Half-Past Ten. He Was Careful To Have

Everything Ready That Evening. The Ways Were Carefully Smeared With

Tallow And Soft Soap,  And Put In Their Places; The Props Were All Ready

To Be Removed; And Everything That Might Get In The Way In The Harbour,

Was Hauled Out Of The Way And Secured To Its Moorings.

 

The Ship Lay With Her Stern Towards The Water,  And Her Stem Slightly

Raised Above It. Under Her Bows Lay All The Material For Use The Next

Day. The Spare Pieces Of Timber That Were To Be Put Under Her,  And The

Wedges Which Were To Be Driven In To Raise Her Forward,  Were Ready To

Hand,  As Were The Jacks And Levers. Everything,  In Fact,  Down To The

Long-Handled Mauls Was In Its Place.

 

Gabriel Followed At Tom'S Heels All Day. He Wanted To Take In everything

Clearly,  And Succeeded Fully In So Doing. Only One Thing,  The Ship'S

Name,  That He Was So Anxious To Know,  Still Remained A Secret,  Which Tom

Would Not Betray. And Tom Himself It Was Who,  In accordance With The

Consul'S Orders,  Had Spiked On The Name-Board When It Was Nearly Dark.

 

The Company At Anders Begmand'S Had Been Busy That Evening,  Especially

Tom Robson,  And By The Time It Was About Ten O'Clock He Was Pretty Well

Tipsy. Woodlouse Was No Better; But Torpander Kept As Sober As Usual,

Looking Towards The Door Every Time He Heard A Noise. With The Darkness

A Fresh Breeze Began To Blow Up From The South-West,  Which Swept Over

The Open Ground Above Sandsgaard And Down On To The Fjord. It Made The

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Old Cottage Shake Again When The Wind Came Back In eddies From The Hill

Behind It,  And Torpander Got Up Every Moment,  Thinking That The Door Was

Opening,  To The Endless Amusement Of Mr. Robson.

 

Martin Drank In Silence,  And Looked Even More Gloomy Than Usual. The

Whole Winter He Had Been Out Of Work. Tom Robson Had Lent Him Money,  And

That Made Him Even More Morose,  For He Was Proud After His Own Fashion,

And Gratitude Was Not In His Nature.

 

At Last Marianne Came. Torpander Greeted Her In His Usual Respectful

Manner,  To Which She Answered With A Faint Smile. She Looked Almost

Ready To Fall From Weariness,  As She Passed Hurriedly Through The Room.

"Hulloa!" Cried Tom,  Who Only Saw Her When She Had Reached The Kitchen

Door,  "Here Comes My Sweetheart! Marianne,  My Darling! The Ship Is Ready

Now,  And Tom Robson Has Got Some Money. Let'S Have The Wedding;

To-Night,  If You Like! Come Along!" Cried He,  Struggling To Get Over The

Bench.

 

Martin Thrust Him Back. "Will You Let My Sister Alone?"

 

"I Suppose She Is Not Good Enough For An Honest Seaman,  Because Of That

Infernal Young Gar----"

 

He Did Not Get Any Farther,  For Martin Aimed A Blow At Him And Struck

Him Behind The Ear. Marianne Hastily Left The Room. Torpander Now Threw

Himself Courageously On His Ancient Enemy From The Other Side,  And A

Frightful Scuffle Ensued.

 

Tom Robson Put Himself In Position Like An English Boxer,  Drunk As He

Was,  And Squared His Arms And Elbows For The Fray.

 

At First He Made A Few Feints At Martin,  Which Were Not Meant To Be

Serious. But When He Had Received A Few Blows Which Were Really Painful,

He Sprang Away From The Table So As To Get More Room. Torpander Had Not

The Least Idea Of Using His Fists,  But Hammered Away Like A Blacksmith

With His Long Skinny Arms,  Either At Tom Or Else In The Air,  Just As It

Might Happen. Mr. Robson Gave Him A Tap Every Now And Then Which Made

His Bones Rattle Again,  But On The Whole He Allowed The Swede To Hammer

Away At His Back As Much As He Liked.

 

Woodlouse Looked On For Some Time With The Greatest Satisfaction,  Until

The Idea Struck Him That He Would Clear The Room. He Accomplished His

Object With The Greatest Perseverance,  And What With Butting With His

Head And Pushing His Heavy Body Between The Combatants,  He At Length

Managed To Get The Whole Lot Turned Out Of Doors. Begmand Threw Their

Hats After Them,  And Shut The Door.

 

The Fresh Wind Had A Cooling Effect On Them All,  And On Woodlouse'S

Suggestion A Truce Was Concluded. In Order To Ratify This,  It Was

Arranged That They Should Go To Tom Robson'S House,  And Have Another

Dram And A Bit Of English Cheese.

 

They Then Clambered Up The Steep Path At The Back Of Begmand'S House,

Tom Robson Leading,  And As He Was Helping Himself With His Hands Up The

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Steepest Places,  He Chanced To Get Hold Of A Loose Stone,  Which,  In Pure

Drunken Wantonness,  He Threw At Marianne'S Window,  Where He Happened To

See A Light. The Stone Struck With Such Force,  Just Where The Bars Of

The Window-Frame Crossed,  That All The Four Panes Were Smashed,  And The

Glass Came Clattering Down.

 

"That Was Tom Robson!" Yelled Martin,  Who Was The Last. "Let Me Get Up

To Him! Out Of The Way! Only Let Me Get My Hands On Him!" And He Worked

His Way Past The Others,  And Got Up To Tom,  Just As He Had Reached The

Top Of The Slope Where The Flat Meadow Began.

 

Martin Went At Him With Such Violence That The Other Had Not Time To Put

Himself In Position. Blow After Blow Rained Down On Him,  Until He Fell

To The Ground Half Stupefied. Martin Threw Himself Upon Him,  Put His

Knees On His Breast,  And Struck Him In The Face,  And Then Continued

Hitting And Kicking At Random Until He Could Do So No Longer.

 

The Others Now Came Up,  But Did Not Get Between The Combatants. Martin

Was Now Perfectly Wild,  And Went On In Front,  Swinging His Arms,  Cursing

And Swearing Horribly. Tom Robson Came Limping Behind; But No Sooner Did

Martin Catch Sight Of Him,  Than He Threw Himself Upon Him A Second Time,

Until He Again Lay Apparently Dead Upon The Meadow. They Thus Continued

Their Way Over The Field,  But Just As Martin Was Making A Third Attack

Upon Tom,  A Tall,  Slender Boy Came Springing Over The Field,  And Put

Himself In Front Of Martin. It Was Gabriel Garman.

 

"Will You Leave Him Alone,  Martin?" He Cried,  Breathless From Running.

 

"Oh!" Cried Martin,  "Here Is One Of The Bloodsuckers! You Have Just Come

At The Right Time. I Will Wreak My Vengeance On You,  You Infernal Young

Scoundrel!"

 

But Just As He Was On The Point Of Attacking Gabriel His Arms Were

Seized From Behind.

 

"Are You Mad,  Martin? It'S Gabriel,  The Consul'S Son. You Are Out Of

Your Senses,  Lad!" Cried Woodlouse. Both He And The Swede Threw

Themselves Upon Martin,  And Held Him Fast. Martin Yelled And Struggled,

Until He At Length Fell Back,  Wearied With His Efforts,  And Lay Still.

 

Tom Robson Did Not Know Much About What Was Going On,  But Managed,

However,  To Stumble Up To His House,  Which Was Close By.

 

"You Have No Occasion To Be Afraid,  Mr. Gabriel," Said Woodlouse,  In a

Fawning Tone; "We Have Got Him Tight."

 

"That Is What You Ought To Have Done Before," Answered Gabriel. "I

Should Have Been Able To Look After Myself."

 

He Was So Slight And Slender That Martin Could Have Crushed Him,  Mad As

He Was; But Woodlouse Could Not Help Saying,  As He Went Down The Slope,

"There Is Good Blood In Them."

 

Martin,  Whom They Had Now Let Go,  Raised His Head. "Blood,  Do You Say?

Yes,  There'S Blood In Them--The Blood Of The Poor That They Have Sucked

From Father To Son. And All That Blood Have They Turned To