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"Oh yes, papa," Miss Clara interrupted him, stepping forth in all her glory of tulle and flowers; "it is Paul Jespersen, who was going to be my Beast." "And it is you who have frightened my servants half out of their wits, Jespersen?" said Mr. Broby, laughing. "He tumbled down through the chimney, sir," declared the cook, who had half-recovered from her fright. "Well," said Mr.
It must have been Miss Clara Broby who had induced them to be so polite to him, for those insolent cadets, who only nodded patronizingly to him in response to his deferential greeting, would never have asked for "the pleasure of his company."
Thus it came to pass that Paul Jespersen, the book-keeper in the fish-exporting firm of Broby & Larsen, received a card, although, to be sure, there had been a long debate in the committee as to where the line should be drawn. Paul Jespersen was uncommonly elated when he read the invitation, which was written on a gilt-edged card, requesting the pleasure of Mr.
By creeping along the roof-trees of the houses, which, happily, differed but slightly in height, he could reach the Broby house, where, no doubt, Miss Clara was now waiting for him, full of impatience. He did not deliberate long before testing the practicability of this plan.
When the Ruffluck family came home from church the Sunday the dean had spoken so beautifully to Glory Goldie they found two men perched on their fence, close to the gate. One of the men was Lars Gunnarson, who had become master of Falla after Eric's death, the other was a clerk from the store down at Broby, where Katrina bought her coffee and sugar.
Behind him peeped forth the faces of his two daughters, one as Morning and the other as Spring. "May I ask what is the cause of this unseemly noise?" repeated Mr. Broby, advancing to the middle of the room. The light of his candle now fell upon the huge bear whom, after a slight start, he recognized as a masker. "Excuse me, Mr. Broby," said Paul, "but Miss Clara did me the honor "
It was now Paul's turn to be frightened. The person who stood before him bore a close resemblance to the devil. "What is all this racket about?" he cried, in a tone of authority. Paul felt instantly relieved, for the voice was that of his revered chief, Mr. Broby, who, he now recollected, was to figure at the masquerade as Mephistopheles.
Broby, with another laugh, "I admit that was a trifle unconventional. Next time you call, Jespersen, you must come through the door." He thought Jespersen had chosen to play a practical joke on the servants, and, though he did not exactly like it, he was in no mood for scolding.
"But bear in mind that either you move on the first of October or you pay the storekeeper at Broby the one hundred rix-dollars you owe him on or before that date. Besides, I must have another hundred for the land." Old Katrina sat wringing her toil-gnarled hands. She was so wrought up that she talked to herself, not caring who heard her.
But it so happened that the storekeeper at Broby had sent his clerk with some accounts that had not been settled. The clerk now produced the bills and laid them on the table. Katrina pushed them over to Glory Goldie and told her to figure up the total amount due. It was no less than one hundred rix-dollars that they owed! Katrina went white as a sheet.
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