"I'm not, indeed. So she takes away your trousers? First-rate idea, you know, really. She's one of my sort. But, look here, you know, we must be able to borrow a pair from somewhere. I've only these myself, more's the pity. But we might take it in turns...."
"There's only one man in the place whose trousers fit me. And he won't. Oh, the beast! I sent down to ask him. He knows very well what's the trouble. It's Rothe."
There was a sound of short, rapid steps outside. Vang listened, waved one arm as if with a baton to bid the orchestra cease, and fell back, looking very ill indeed. There was a knock, and Fru Vang entered. She was a dark, thin, sour-looking woman with pale cheeks and a burnt fringe.
Vang sat up hastily and made the introduction with an ease of manner acquired from habitual attendance at ballrooms, then lay back and resumed his invalid air.
"I've sewed that button on," said Fru Vang, laying something on the bed. "Don't you think you might try to get up now?"
She tripped back and forth about her husband's bed, settled his pillows, and pulled the sheet straight. Her skirts were shorter than was usual, and her patent shoes had pointed toes and very high heels.
The legs were undoubtedly the legs of a waitress, but the rest of her was unimpeachable. Save, perhaps, for the fringe.... Yes, the legs and the fringe....
Egholm left the pair to themselves and hurried home. He had gained something at least, in that his gloomy thoughts were dispersed for the time being. Again and again he stopped, shook his head, and snorted with laughter, at the recollection of huge Vang's helpless expression.
After all, there was no sense in taking things too seriously. Most of life was only fooling at the best. He would write to the Brethren, yes; but he would not be a fool and insist on his rights; much better to go warily, and beg their assistance in his extremity. It was one of the rules of the community to help any brother in distress.
Fru Egholm had the pleasure of her husband's company till late that night. She looked to her work, and he sat there as in the old days, busy with pen and ink and quantities of paper. But he was not angry now; he hummed and chuckled in a self-satisfied way. At one o'clock he began to read his petition aloud.