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And this hand, loved and missed by so many it lay there now on an anatomical table, encircled by clouds of tobacco smoke, stared at by curious glances, and made the object of coarse jokes. O God! how terrible it was! "I must have that arm," exclaimed Sölling, when the first burst of admiration had passed. "When I bleach it and touch it up with varnish, it will be a superb specimen.
We burst out into loud laughter at this remarkable answer, but Sölling continued: "Can you imagine it? Both arms are gone, cut off at the shoulder joint; and the strangest part of it is that the same thing has been done to my shabby old skeleton which stands in my bedroom, There wasn't an arm on either of them." "That's too bad," I remarked.
Niels Daae treated us to his ducks and to his most amusing jokes, Solling sang his best songs, our jovial host Mathiesen told his wittiest stories, and the merriment was in full swing when we heard cries in the street, and then a rush of confused noises broken by screams of pain. "There's been an accident," cried Solling, running out to the door.
If you go through the gate of the porcelain factory and over the courtyard, and through the mill in the fourth courtyard that leads out into Spring Street, there you will see where the planking is torn down and you can get into the churchyard easily." "Hans, you're a genius!" exclaimed Sölling in delight.
Sölling shook his head as he examined the injury, and ordered the transport of the patient to the city hospital. It was his belief that the arm would have to be amputated, cut off at the shoulder joint, just as had been the case with our skeleton. "Damned odd coincidence, isn't it?" he remarked to me.
I would show Outzen, and Solling, and all the rest, what a devil of a fellow I was. My heart beat rapidly as I stole through the long dark corridor, past the ruins of the old convent of St. Clara, into the so-called third courtyard. Here I took a lantern from the hall, lit it and crossed to the mill where the clay was prepared for the factory.
I'll take it home with me." "No," I exclaimed, "I can't permit it. It was wrong of me to bring it away from the churchyard. I'm going right back to put the arm in its place." "Well, will you listen to that?" cried Solling, amid the hearty laughter of the others. "Simsen's so lyric, he certainly must be drunk. I must have that arm at any cost."
"Not much," cut in Niels Daae; "you have no right to it. It was buried in the earth and dug out again; it is a find, and all the rest of us have just as much right to it as you have." "Yes, everyone of us has some share in it," said some one else. "But what are you going to do about it?" remarked Solling. "It would be vandalism to break up that arm.
One, two, even five minutes passed before we heard him run upstairs and knock at the door with his characteristic short blows. When he entered the room he looked so angry and at the same time so upset that I cried out: "What's the matter, Solling? You look as if you had been robbed." "That's exactly what has happened," replied Solling angrily.
You know how grumpy Sölling gets if anything interferes with his tutoring. You see, I'd had the geese sent me, and I wanted you to all come with me to Mathiesen's place. I knew you were going to read the osteology of the arm, so I went up into Sölling's room, opened it with his own keys and took the arms from his skeleton. I did the same here while you were downstairs in the reading room.
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