One day that spring, when the trees in the city avenues were beginning
to bud, Klaus Brock and Ferdinand Holm were sitting in a cafe in North
Street. "There goes your friend," said Ferdinand; and looking from the
window they saw Peer Holm passing the post-office on the other side of
the road. His clothes were shabby, his shoes had not been cleaned, he
walked slowly, his fair head with its College cap bent forward, but
seemed nevertheless to notice all that was going on in the street.
"Wonder what he's going pondering over now," said Klaus.
"Look there--I suppose that's a type of carriage he's never seen before.
Why, he has got the driver to stop--"
"I wouldn't mind betting he'll crawl in between the wheels to find out
whatever he's after," laughed Klaus, drawing back from the window so as
not to be seen.
"He looks pale and fagged out," said Ferdinand, shifting his glasses. "I
suppose his people aren't very well off?"
Klaus opened his eyes and looked at the other. "He's not overburdened
with cash, I fancy."
They drank off their beer, and sat smoking and talking of other things,
until Ferdinand remarked casually: "By the way--about your friend--are
his parents still alive?"
Klaus was by no means anxious to go into Peer's family affairs, and
answered briefly--No, he thought not.
"I'm afraid I'm boring you with questions, but the fact is the
fellow interests me rather. There is something in his face,
something--arresting.
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