One day he was sitting alone at the hotel in Christiania--Merle was out
shopping--when there was a very discreet knock at the door.
"Come in," called Peer. And in walked a middle-sized man, of thirty or
more, dressed in a black frock-coat with a large-patterned vest, and his
dark hair carefully combed over a bald patch on the crown. He had a
red, cheery face; his eyes were of the brightest blue, and the whole man
breathed and shone with good humour.
"I am Uthoug junior," said the new-comer, with a bow and a laugh.
"Oh--that's capital."
"Just come across from Manchester--beastly voyage. Thanks, thanks--I'll
find a seat." He sat down, and flung one striped trouser-leg over the
other.
Peer sent for some wine, and in half an hour the two were firm allies.
Uthoug junior's life-story to date was quickly told. He had run away
from home because his father had refused to let him go on the stage--had
found on trial that in these days there weren't enough theatres to go
round--then had set up in business for himself, and now had a general
agency for the sale of English tweeds. "Freedom, freedom," was his idea;
"lots of elbow-room--room to turn about in--without with your leave or
by your leave to father or anyone! Your health!"
A week later the street outside Lorentz D. Uthoug's house in Ringeby was
densely crowded with people, all gazing up at the long rows of lighted
windows. There was feasting to-night in the great man's house.
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