"But who is this young gentleman, may I ask?" The gold spectacles were
turned full on Peer, who rose and bowed.
"Said he wanted to speak to you, sir," put in the maid.
"Ah. From the country, I see. Have you anything to sell, my lad?"
"No," said Peer. He had had a letter. . . .
The red head seemed positively frightened at this--and the dressing-gown
faltered backwards, as if to find support. He cast a hurried glance at
the girl, and then beckoned with a long fore-finger to Peer. "Yes, yes,
perfectly so. Be so good as to come this way, my lad."
Peer found himself in a room with rows of books all round the walls, and
a big writing-table in the centre. "Sit down, my boy." The schoolmaster
went and picked out a long pipe, and filled it, clearing his throat
nervously, with an occasional glance at the boy. "H'm--so this is you.
This is Peer--h'm." He lit his pipe and puffed a little, found himself
again obliged to sneeze--but at last settled down in a chair at the
writing-table, stretched out his long legs, and puffed away again.
"So that's what you look like?" With a quick movement he reached for a
photograph in a frame. Peer caught a glimpse of his father in uniform.
The schoolmaster lifted his spectacles, stared at the picture, then let
down his spectacles again and fell to scrutinising Peer's face. There
was a silence for a while, and then he said: "Ah, indeed--I see--h'm."
Then turning to Peer:
"Well, my lad, it was very sudden--your benefactor's end--most
unexpected.
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