"Good enough for that young humbug, yes."
Once more Egholm felt his hands itching with murderous instincts, but when the tension was at its height, a spark flew over to some nerve of humour. He bent down almost double, put one hand to his mouth like a funnel, and whispered in his wife's ear:
The Evangelist closed his puffy eyes reflectively for a moment when Egholm returned and stated what was the menu for the day.
"H'm. I'll stay, all the same," he said. And added a moment after: "If there's eggs, I like them hard boiled."
"Hard boiled--yes, yes," said Egholm, precisely in the manner of a waiter, and disappeared into the kitchen once more.
"I never heard the like--that rascally scamp ... thinks we can dig up eggs out of the ground--and that in December! Why, only to ask at the grocer's they'd think we were mad. Eggs, indeed! _Eggs--on credit!_ No, as long as we can get what's barely needful. Why...."
But Egholm, with great ends in view, wasted little time in talk. He went out himself, and returned five minutes later with a bag of eggs and a lump of sausage, which he set down triumphantly on the kitchen table. Thus supper was provided of a kind to exceed Karlsen's expectations, and set him in good humour.
Both laughed, Karlsen, however, the louder, when the host's egg was found to be bad. As for the clove tea, Karlsen, like Hedvig, did not find it to his taste. He explained that he liked something with a little more colour, his taste and smell having suffered through smoking.
"My wife says she won't come into the Brotherhood at any price--not just at the moment, that is to say. But perhaps later, I've no doubt ... that is to say...."
And he waited for the answer with the sweat standing out on his forehead.
"Oh, well, never mind. Hang the condition. We'll leave it out."
Karlsen went on to tell of the Brotherhood and its doings. Everything was going on first-rate. Fru Westergaard had got dropsy, and there was every likelihood--here Karlsen clicked his tongue in anticipation--every likelihood of her bequeathing them a whole heap of money. The Angel went to see her practically every day, and, in case of need, the Prophet from Copenhagen would come too.
"Father's in touch with a heap of them, you know. By letter. He got a letter the other day from John the Apostle. He's in London."