Karlsen's shop was at a corner of the market square. It was a very old house, with a steep red roof. At the bottom two small windows had been let in to make it look like a shop, and through them one could discern, in spite of a thick layer of cobwebs and dust, the rows of shelves with yellow jars in all sizes. The modest store was suited to the taste of the peasant customers. They could stand for ages pondering over the choice of a shovel or rake, and weighing it in the hand. Karlsen was understood to be a wealthy man.
Egholm inquired of a chilblainy youth if he could speak with Angel Karlsen.
H'm. He didn't know. Would go in and ask.
"Say it's something of importance," said Egholm.
As the door in the corner was opened, Egholm heard a sound of voices in dispute from the office beyond. Two voices--and he could not recognise either. Or was it--yes, surely that was old Karlsen's, after all? Egholm listened in wonder, as one might listen to a familiar air played out of time or at a different pace.
"Call me a scoundrel if you like," shouted the one, a nasal trumpeting voice with a twang of city jargon--"call me a thief, a convict, or anything you damn well please, but I won't be called a fool!"
"But the contract, the contract, the contract!" screamed out the angelic voice of Karlsen the Elder.
No, the young man was sorry, Hr. Karlsen could not possibly see him just now. He was engaged with one of the travellers.
"Well, I must see him, anyhow," said Egholm more soberly.
They were at it again inside, and his knock was unheeded. Then suddenly the whole seemed to collapse in a cascade of laughter.
He knocked again, and walked in. There was old Karlsen, his face unevenly flushed, with a fat cigar sticking out of his beard, and before him a bright-eyed, elegantly dressed commercial traveller, who slapped the Angel's outstretched hand repeatedly, both men laughing at the top of their voices.
"Beg pardon, Hr. Karlsen--er--would you kindly read this?..." Where was it now? Egholm began helplessly turning the pages of his Bible.
"Hullo, here's somebody wants to save our souls, by the look of it," said the elegant one, with a tentative laugh.
"Didn't my young man out there tell you I was engaged?" said old Karlsen angrily, turning aside.