“I was beastly stupid, yesterday,” he thought, “beastly stupid,” and his usual expression, the cool, half-sneer returned.
Stellan stole cautiously across the park so as not to be seen or have Laura on his heels. From the bend in the avenue he got a good view of Ekbacken. And he stopped a moment, impressed by the sight. It seemed as if he were looking at Ekbacken for the first time. An expression of amazing cunning came into Stellan’s face, as he passed in through the red wooden gateway. Already his thoughts travelled far, far beyond to old Hermansson’s fine, little boat.
Ekbacken Sawmill and Shipyard was a fine, old business that ran itself. Trustworthy, leisurely, old workers stalked about on the timber rafts inside the boom, and there were steady, old, grey sailors who had sailed in all the seas of the world and were caulking old brigs and barges. And inside in the office sat the book-keeper Lundbom, with eyeglasses and a leather shade, writing out bills to a lot of good and safe customers, who paid in cash and not with miserable acceptances. There also sat old Hermansson reading his paper. There was such a blessed peace that he had smoked half his cigar and the ash was still on it.
He looked up at Stellan with an expression of fatherly benevolence.
“Good-morning, my dear boy. You are looking for Herman, I suppose, but he is at his lessons now. Yes, that’s what happens when you flunk. Come along now, and let us have a talk.”
Stellan asked for nothing better. They went over to the house in a pretty oak wood just by the road to town. On the other side spread soft, billowing, green fields set with old, brown barns. This land also belonged to Ekbacken, but was let to tobacco growers. On the town side the estate was sheltered by some stony hillocks with a few pines here and there, behind which, however, some high, bare walls had entirely shot up and threatened to destroy the idyl.
The house itself was an old, but well-preserved one story house, long and low, where everything from the door handles to the brass doors of the Marieberg earthenware stoves was radiantly clean and polished.
“Why have I not been to Ekbacken more often?” thought Stellan.
Old Hermansson talked about school and praised Herman because he had worked hard, which praise the young man listened to with an open countenance. It opened up further vistas to him. Cleverly he manœuvred the conversation in the direction he wanted. School and school friends, of course! There was Manne at Kolsnäs. He was a jolly decent fellow. And his father, who was a chamberlain to the King, could come and go at court just as he pleased. And they had footmen and horses and everything else. It really was strange that Herman did not see more of Manne. Manne liked Herman awfully. He had told Stellan so—and fancy what fun it would be for Manne to look at all the boats in the yard. And Percy Hill. Didn’t Mr. Hermansson know him and how tremendously rich he was. And Percy was so awfully generous and kind and obedient. Mr. Hermansson would certainly like him....