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I always admired your art." An eager look came into the prisoner's face. "I thank you," he said. "It is not many who will remember in me a man who once did worthy things. I am young," with despair, "yet how I have sunken." "It is something of a drop," admitted Ashton-Kirk. "From a position of first violin with Karlson to that of a street musician. How did it happen?"
"I came here to have a few words with this prisoner, and by your leave, I'll speak to him now." "All right," replied Osborne. "Help yourself." He led Bernstine and Sime out of the cell room; the turnkey, with professional courtesy, moved away to a safe distance, and Ashton-Kirk turned to the Italian. "You were once first violin with Karlson," said he. "I remember you well.
He had assumed the expression peculiar to the young master. But then he read aloud: "Lost! A louse with three tails has escaped, and may be left, in return for a good tip, with the landowner Lasse Karlson, Heath Farm. Broken black bread may also be brought there." The others burst into a shout of laughter, but Pelle turned an ashen gray.
One afternoon they were sitting and working, after having swallowed their food in five minutes, as their custom was; the journeyman was the only one who did not grudge himself a brief mid-day rest, and he sat reading the newspaper. Suddenly he raised his head and looked wonderingly at Pelle. "Now what's this? Lasse Karlson isn't that your father?"
The first drink he made me take I cried all night at home, and got a lickin' for makin' a noise. And now say, Tommy, you ever see this Annie Karlson? If it wasn't for peroxide the chloroform limit would have put her out long ago. Oh, I'm lookin' for 'm. You tell the Kid if he comes in. Me? I'll cut his heart out. Leave it to me. Another whiskey, Tommy."
Directly he was his own master he went the round of the country butchers, questioning them, in the hope of hearing some news of Lasse, but no one could tell him anything. He went from cart to cart, asking his questions. "Lasse Karlson?" said one. "Ah, he was cowherd up at Stone Farm!"
"Why, no, Miss Lizzie, I haven't saw him to-day." Fluently came the "Miss Lizzie," for the Kid was known to be one who required rigid upholdment of the dignity of his fiancee. "I'm lookin' for 'm," said Liz, after the chaser had sputtered under her nose. "It's got to me that he says he'll take Annie Karlson to the dance. Let him. The pink-eyed white rat! I'm lookin' for 'm. You know me, Tommy.
He had assumed the expression peculiar to the young master. But then he read aloud: "Lost! A louse with three tails has escaped, and may be left, in return for a good tip, with the landowner Lasse Karlson, Heath Farm. Broken black bread may also be brought there." The others burst into a shout of laughter, but Pelle turned an ashen gray.
Sadly the young Italian tapped his forehead with one long finger. "The fault," he declared, "is here. I have not the what do you call it sense? What happened with Karlson happened a dozen times before in Italy, in France, in Spain. I have not the good sense!" But justification came into his eyes, and his hands began to gesticulate eloquently. "Karlson is a Swede," with contempt.
Directly he was his own master he went the round of the country butchers, questioning them, in the hope of hearing some news of Lasse, but no one could tell him anything. He went from cart to cart, asking his questions. "Lasse Karlson?" said one. "Ah, he was cowherd up at Stone Farm!"
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