Holm & Son

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Title:     Holm & Son
Author: Anthon B. E. Nilsen [More Titles by Nilsen]

There was a marked change in the office now. Every day, when Holm came in, he would find William seated at his desk, opposite Miss Betty. Early and late, William was always there, working away to all appearance like a steam engine. This in itself was excellent, of course, but, on the other hand, it destroyed all chance of a comfortable chat with Betty tête-à-tête. And every day Holm felt more and more convinced that Betty and he were made for one another. Or at least that Betty was made for him.

"You must get the hang of the outside business too, my son," he observed one day. "Down at the waterside, for instance, there's a lot needs looking after there."

"Yes, father," said William respectfully, "but I want to get thoroughly into the bookkeeping first, and Miss Rantzau is helping me."

There was nothing to be said to this, of course, but it was annoying, to say the least. And Holm senior, thinking matters over in his leisure hours, would say to himself:

"Knut, my boy, you've been a considerable fool. You should have sent the youngsters off to Paris as they wanted, then you could have fixed things up here in your own fashion while they were away."

The thought that William might enter the lists against him as a rival for Betty's favour never occurred to him, however, until one day when Broker Vindt came round and found his friend Holm standing behind the counter in the shop, with William in possession of the inner office.

Vindt was the generally recognised and accredited jester of the town; there was nothing he would not find a way of poking fun at, and even Banker Hermansen had smilingly to submit to his witticisms.

Vindt was an old bachelor, a dried-up, lanky figure of a man, with a broad-brimmed felt hat set on his smooth black wig and a little florid face with a sharp nose.

"Beg pardon, Holm," he began, "would you mind asking if the senior partner's disengaged for a moment?"

"Oh, go to the devil!"

"Well, I was thinking of taking a holiday somewhere--and I dare say he'd put me up. Better than nothing, as the parson said when he found a button in the offertory box. You might say the same, you know; be thankful he's keeping you on at all."

"It's a good thing, if you ask me, to see young people doing something nowadays."

"Ah, my boy, it all depends what they're doing! Apropos, the other young person in there, is she to be taken into partnership as well? Deuced pretty girl that, Holm."

"Vindt, you're incorrigible. Come upstairs and have a glass of wine. I've got some fine '52 Madeira...."

"Started as early as that, did you? No, thanks all the same. I think I'll wait till the little Donna inside there's moved upstairs for good, then perhaps we may get a look in at the office again some day."

And Vindt strode out of the shop. Crossing the square, he met Hermansen, who had just come from the repair shops, where the Spaniard was being overhauled. The only part of her hull that could be considered sound consisted of a few plates at the after end. Wherefore Vindt naturally offered his congratulations, "All's well that ends well, eh, what?"

The banker swallowed the pill without wincing, and merely observed:

"Yes, it's an unsatisfactory business, patching up old wrecks. Apropos, Vindt, how's the gout getting on? Going anywhere for a cure this summer?"

"Can't afford it, I'm afraid. Bills for repairing wrecks, you know, are apt to be a bit heavy when they come in."

Hermansen gave it up after that, but he was considerably annoyed when he returned to the bank, as Petersen, the cashier, could see from the way he flung down his gloves and hat--it was rarely the banker showed so much irritation.

Meantime, Holm was thinking over what Vindt had said. "Wait till the little Donna's moved upstairs for good...." Now what on earth did he mean by that? Vindt could not possibly have any idea that he, Knut Holm, was contemplating marriage. William and Betty, then? Nonsense--the idea was preposterous; it certainly could never have entered his head, far less Vindt's. Still, it was certainly queer, the way the boy stuck to the office and never stirred out....

In days past it had been impossible to keep him at the desk for an hour on end; now, he hung over the books as if he were nailed to the stool.

"Anyhow, we'll make an end of it some way or other. I'm not going to sit here and be made a fool of."

And Holm went into the inner office. By a rare chance, William had gone out, and he found Betty alone.

The girl had her mother's irresistible charm. Not so handsome, true, but of a gentler type, thought Holm to himself as he looked at the fresh young face.

And that fair curling hair of hers went splendidly with the dark eyebrows.

"You're working too hard; you mustn't overdo it, you know," he said kindly.

"Not the least bit, really; I like it. I've quite fallen in love with the big ledger here, it's such a nice comfortable old-fashioned thing."

"So you like old-fashioned things? Perhaps you would include me in the category of old?"

"You, Mr. Holm! Of course not. Why, you're just in the prime of life."

"Well, yes, I hope so. But what would you say, now, if a man--in the prime of life--were to say to you, My dear Miss Betty, will you come and help to brighten up my home? You're too good to wear yourself out with working in an office, when you might be filling a man's life with comfort and content."

Betty got down from her stool and stood looking at him in astonishment.

"Really, Mr. Holm, I don't know what you mean!"

"Oh, I know I'm much older than you, Miss Betty, but my heart's as young as ever, and I can offer you a good home and devoted affection, better, perhaps, than you would find elsewhere."

He placed himself opposite her and endeavoured to meet her eyes, but she took refuge behind the ledger, and would not look up.

"I've seen ups and downs in my time, Miss Betty, and learned a good deal of life; you won't find me such a poor support to lean on."

"Oh, please, Mr. Holm, please don't say any more. I--I must go home now, mama will be waiting...." She broke off, and began hurriedly and nervously putting on her things.

Holm put out his hand and held hers a moment or two, then she ran out, and soon her light, firm step had passed out of hearing.

Holm was annoyed.

"H'm, you're out of practice, that's what it is. Getting old. Shouldn't have sprung it on her suddenly like that. Never flurry a turtle dove; slips out of the ark if you do, and never comes back. But you don't see Knut Holm giving up the game for a little thing like that; no, we must get our old friend Bianca to lend a hand. She's sensible enough to know a good son-in-law when she sees one."

Next morning, when Betty arrived at the office, Holm went along to call on Mrs. Rantzau; it was to her he must now look for help.

Mrs. Rantzau grew very serious when Holm enlightened her as to his feelings for Betty. She pointed out at once the great difference in their ages, and was very doubtful on that head. Nevertheless, she undertook to speak to Betty herself.

She could not but admit that the offer was a tempting one and that Betty's future would be assured--which to a woman in her position was important enough. She would in any case give the matter her most earnest consideration.

Holm took all this to mean that Mrs. Rantzau herself was not disinclined to approve of the idea, but that it would take time to get it settled.

He felt more cheerful now, and hoped for victory in the end. Mrs. Rantzau, he was convinced, would use her utmost influence with her daughter, though of course they would think it looked better not to accept at once!

On returning to the office he fancied Betty was more than usually friendly, and came to the conclusion that she had perhaps begun to think more seriously over the matter.

In order to prepare the children in any case, he thought it best to take William into his confidence, without further delay, as to his intention of marrying again. William was accordingly asked to come upstairs.

When they entered the drawing-room Holm locked the door, and motioned William to a seat on the sofa beside him.

"But what on earth are you making all this mystery about, old man?" said William.

"Old, did you say? You might be thankful, my boy, if you were as youthful as I am."

"Why, what's the matter now?"

"I want to speak to you seriously, my son. For seventeen years now I have been a lone, lone man...."

"Seventeen years?"

"That's what I said. It's seventeen years now since Mrs. Gronlund died. But what is time? A mere trifle. Anyhow, I'm getting tired of this lonely life."

"Very natural, I'm sure."

"And I have therefore resolved to marry again."

"Have you, though? Good idea."

"Yes; don't you think so? And I have decided to take a wife who is first of all a good-hearted and domesticated woman, but at the same time one who will be able to brighten up the home."

"Excellent! I quite agree. A sound and healthy man of your type should certainly marry as soon as opportunity occurs. And I don't mind saying that the life we two have led here all these years hasn't exactly been an ideal existence."

"Perhaps not--though you might have been worse off. However, now that I am about to bring home a bride for the third----"

"And last time?"

"--I cannot but feel a certain emotion in saying to you, my son, as I do now: look up to her as a mother, love her as she deserves, for she is a woman in a thousand."

"I'm sure, father, you could not have made a better choice. Mrs. Rantzau is, I believe, an excellent woman."

"Mrs. Rantzau! What on earth are you talking about?"

"Why, isn't it her you mean? Both Marie and I have noticed you've been visiting her pretty often of late."

"Me--to marry a woman that age!"

"But she must be much younger than you!"

"Oh--that's different. Men can marry at any age and keep on marrying."

"But who is the favoured one, then?"

"The favoured one, as you are pleased to call her, is Miss Betty----"

"Betty! You marry Betty Rantzau?"

"Yes; don't you think it's a good idea? Suit us all round."

"Oh, it's ridiculous, impossible!"

"And why, may I ask?"

"Well, to begin with, Betty won't have you, and, besides----"

"Well...?"

"Betty belongs to me!"

Holm jumped up from the sofa, and stood facing William, who sat quietly and calmly as ever.

"William--I should never have expected this of you. H'm, I've borne with a good deal, one way and another, and had a lot of low-down tricks played on me in my time, but this...."

"Betty's the only woman I've ever cared for, father; from the first time I set eyes on her I've...."

"A passing fancy, nothing more. A few weeks' holiday in Paris, and you'll have forgotten all about it."

"There you're mistaken. I'm serious for once."

"And I'm serious too. And this time I'm not going to give in."

Holm turned sharply on his heel and went down to the office. He had expected to find Betty there, but she was out. On the desk lay a note, in her writing, asking to be excused for leaving the office; she was not feeling well, and had gone home.

He strode up and down in great agitation. Knut Holm was thoroughly angry now.

His own son as a rival! Was there ever such a ridiculous state of things? If Vindt got any inkling of the situation, there would be no end to the gossip he would make of it--it would be impossible to remain in the place.

Give way at once, and submit? No, that was not Knut Holm's way. And indeed, the very thought made him feel miserable at heart, for he had grown really fond of Betty.

Well, let her choose for herself, that was the best way. She and her mother could work it out together, and see which looked most like business.

He went down to the waterside to hunt up Bramsen; in times of real difficulty, when he felt uncertain how to act, it was always helpful to spend an hour listening to Bramsen's honest and genial talk.

Up in the loft he found Bramsen, lying at his ease on a couple of coffee-bags, studying a telegram.

"Hullo, Bramsen, what are you up to now?"

Bramsen half rose, and sat holding one hand to his forehead, waving the telegram in the other.

"Well, if this isn't the queerest...."

"There's a deal of queer things about just lately. What's happening now?"

"Why, you know I told you how I'd got all that worldly out of Andrine, when she joined the Salvation Army?"

"Well, has she come to her senses again?"

"Getting on that way, anyhow. It was just as I thought. When she got up this morning she began sort of throwing out hints that I'd better let her have the bank-book again after all."

"Aha, that looks like coming round."

"Well, you can guess I'd been expecting something of the sort, and so I started in a little speculation while there was time."

"Not trying steamboats, I hope?"

"No, no. But I got wind of a good thing in another way altogether. You know Johnsen I told you about?"

"Bramsen, don't tell me you've got mixed up in any sort of deal with that drunken old fool?"

"Drunk? He's as right as can be now. Turned teetotal, and made some money too. Any amount. Well, last week he came along to me and said he and Baron Olsen had gone shares and bought up a boat that was lying at Strandvik--Erik was the name. They'd got her dirt cheap, but they'd let me come in for a third share, and be managing owner, with Johnsen as skipper. Well, I agreed. The Erik went off last week, and now here comes a telegram from some place called Havre; but it's a queer sort of message. I can't make head or tail of it myself. Here, see what it says: 'Drink dock yesterday.--JOHNSEN.' Drunk in dock, if you ask me--and him a teetot'lar and all!"

Holm took the telegram and read it over, but could make nothing of it. "Drink dock yesterday" was all it said.

"Well, it's something to do with drink, anyway, by the look of it--whether he means he got drunk in dock, or drank the dock dry to be out of temptation, he's probably got delirium tremens by this time, and drunk the ship as well."

"Holm--you don't think he's gone off the rails again--honestly?" Bramsen jumped up from his couch and stood aghast.

"Well, whatever did you want to be such a fool for, Bramsen? Managing owner indeed--why, you've no more idea of managing than those coffee-bags."

"Ho, haven't I? And me been round the Horn and Cape of Good Hope as well, and nearly eaten by crocodiles in Bahia, dead of yellow fever, and all but burned in Rio, an ear with frostbite in the Arctic, been shooting monkeys in Mozambique."

"Monkey yourself, if you ask me."

"That may be; but, anyhow, you can't say I don't know anything about shipping. Your smart shipowners sitting all day in their offices and looking out places on the map, you suppose they know more about it than me that's been thirty years navigating on my own all over the torrential globe. I'm not good enough to manage a bit of a ship myself, eh? I'm a plain man, I know, but I'm no fool for all that, and I don't see what call you've got to go throwing wet blankets on all my deals and doings anyhow."

Bramsen was thoroughly offended now, and Holm found it difficult to bring him round.

"It's not that, Bramsen; you know I don't mean it that way. But I do think it's foolish of you to entrust your property to an irresponsible fellow like Johnsen."

"Well, what's a man to do when everything's going by the board all round? Ay, it's other little matters that's the trouble as well. I don't mind telling you, Knut, but, flay and fester me, you must swear you won't say a word to a soul."

"You know I can keep a secret, Bramsen."

"Well, it's this way. Armanda's only just been confirmed, and, would you believe it, if the girl hasn't gone and got engaged already, with Johnsen's son; Carljohan's his name, and a devilish smart lad too. I know he failed for his mate's certificate this year, but after all that doesn't go for much, for he can walk on his hands as easy as his feet, and he's as nimble as a squirrel up aloft."

"But have you given your consent?"

"Consent?" Bramsen stared in astonishment. "Consent? They never asked for it, and I never asked myself--how should I? I'd never have done anything but ask for consent all the times I was engaged, and then, what about you? Have you asked anyone's consent?"

"No, but...."

"Well, there you are! Anyhow, we had a sort of celebration party up at home one evening when Andrine was gone to meeting. Take my word for it, but old Johnsen was a bit sore that night; and wishing he'd never gone in for teetotalling! But the rest of us had a fine uproarious time of it, and I tried my hand with young Carljohan at one or two little wrestling tricks. Aha, he's a good one, but he'll need to learn a bit more before he can get over me. There's a dodge or two I learned from a Mulatto on the coast of Brazil many years ago...."

"But what's all this got to do with the boat?"

"Why, you see, Armanda says Carljohan must get a berth as skipper, so we must use the chance, while her mother's all Salvationing, to get hold of a share in a vessel, put in old Johnsen as skipper at first, and let the youngster take it on after.... See?"

"Oho! Women again, Bramsen, what?"

"Ay, they do us every time, and that's the truth. But we can't get on without them all the same. Like pepper in the soup--gets you in the throat now and again, but it gives you an appetite."

Bramsen had by now almost forgotten the telegram; he grew serious again, however, as it caught his eye.

"'Drink dock yesterday--drink dock....'" he scratched his whiskers and muttered curses at Johnsen and his telegram.

Holm sat looking at the thing.

"Bramsen," he said at last, "I've got it. Don't you see what it is?"

"No, I'm blest if I do."

"It's come through a bit wrong, that's all, mutilated in transit. 'Erik' it ought to be. 'Erik dock yesterday'--that is--he's got there all right and docked yesterday."

Bramsen turned a somersault over the coffee-bags, slapped his thighs and stood doubled up with laughter.

"Well, to be sure! A nice lot they telegraph people must be over there! And I was certain sure he'd gone on the drink and sold us all up this time--ha, ha, ha!"

* * * * *

While Holm and Bramsen were thus consoling each other down at the quay, Mrs. Rantzau and Betty were sitting quietly in the little parlour now that the pupils had gone.

Betty was crying, with her arms round her mother's neck, while her mother pressed the girl closely to her, patting her hair tenderly.

"Don't cry, Betty, my child; you know we've always had each other, good times and bad. Ah, my dear, it's a sad childhood you had, but I could do no more. You must do as your heart tells you, my child."

"Oh, mother, and we were so happy together, and everything going so well."

"We'll manage somehow, Betty dear; you've never known me give up yet, have you, child?"

"No--but it's so cruel to think of you having to work and slave all the time--and we might have lived in luxury the two of us--but I can't, mother, I can't."

"Never think of it, Betty dear; I am well and strong, and we'll get along all right. And if you don't care to stay on at the office there after what's happened, why, there must be other places you could get."

"Yes, I know--but it was so nice there, and I was just getting into things so well. And--and--Mr. William was so nice and kind."

She fell to crying once more, but Mrs. Rantzau sat up sharply.

"William--was he nice to you, you say?"

"Yes, so kind and friendly, and he told me about things---- Oh, he's a good man, I know."

"Told you about what things, Betty?"

"About his life, and how he'd wanted to be an artist, and was studying for it and all that--but then he thought it was his duty to help his old father with the business."

Betty grew calmer after a while, and told her mother a great deal of what had passed between Holm and herself, and what William had said.

Emilie Rantzau lay awake till late that night thinking over what Betty had said. It was difficult to get a clear idea of the situation, for the various scenes seemed contradictory. Had William honourable intentions regarding Betty?--that was the main thing.

But she had met with so many disappointments in life, that it almost seemed as if Fate were purposely deluding her with visions that were never to be realised. Again and again she had seen the future opening before her in happiness and prosperity, only to find the prospect vanish like a mirage, leaving her alone as before in the desert of life.

[The end]
Anthon B. E. Nilsen's short story: Holm & Son

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