The Red Room by August Strindberg (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕

coat, and with the help of the fire-tongs loosened a board in the floor, rotted by rain and acids.

“Confound you! What are you doing?” exclaimed Sellén.

“I used to do this in my college days at Upsala,” said Borg.

“But you can’t do that sort of thing at Stockholm!”

“Hang it all, I’m cold! I must have a fire.”

“But there’s no necessity to break up the floor in the middle of the room! It shows too much!”

“What does that matter to me! I don’t live here. But this is too hard.”

Meanwhile he had approached Sellén, and all of a sudden he pushed him and the stool over; in falling the artist dragged the pieces of cardboard with him, exposing the bare floor-packing underneath.

“Miscreant! To have a perfect timber-yard and not to say a word about it!”

“The rain’s done it!”

“I don’t care who’s done it! Let’s light a fire!”

He wrenched off a few pieces of wood with his strong hands and soon a fire was blazing in the grate.

Levin had watched the scene, quiet, neutral, and polite. Borg sat down before the fire and made the tongs red-hot.

Again there was a knock: three short raps and a longer one.

“That’s Falk,” said Sellén, opening the door.

Falk entered, looking a little hectic.

“Do you want money?” said Borg to the newcomer, laying his hand on his breast-pocket.

“What a question to ask,” said Falk, looking at him doubtfully.

“How much do you want? I can let you have it.”

“Are you serious?” asked Falk, and his face cleared.

“Serious? Hm! How much? The figure! The amount!”

“I could do with, say, sixty crowns.”

“Good Lord, how modest you are,” remarked Borg, and turned to Levin.

“Yes, it is very little,” said the latter. “Take as much as you can get Falk while the purse is open.”

“I’d rather not! Sixty crowns is all I want, and I can’t afford to take up a bigger loan. But how is it to be paid back?”

“Twelve crowns every sixth month, twenty-four crowns per annum, in two instalments,” said Levin promptly and firmly.

“Those are easy terms,” replied Falk. “Where do you get money on those terms?”

“From the Wheelwrights’ Bank. Give me paper and a pen, Levin!”

Quick as lightning Levin produced a promissory note, a pen, and a pocket inkstand. The note had already been filled up by the others. When Falk saw the figure eight hundred he hesitated for a moment.

“Eight hundred crowns?” he asked.

“You can have more if you are not satisfied.”

“No, I won’t; it’s all the same who takes the money as long as it is paid up all right. But can you raise money on a bill of this sort, without security?”

“Without security? You are forgetting that we are guaranteeing it,” replied Levin, with contemptuous familiarity.

“I don’t want to depreciate it,” observed Falk. “I’m grateful for your guarantees, but I don’t believe that the bill will be accepted.”

“Oh, won’t it! It’s accepted already,” said Borg, bringing out a “bill of acceptance,” as he called it. “Go on, Falk, sign!”

Falk signed his name.

Borg and Levin were watching him, looking over his shoulders like policemen.

“Assessor,” dictated Borg.

“No, I’m a journalist,” objected Falk.

“That’s no good; you are registered as assessor, and as such you still figure in the directory.”

“Did you look it up?”

“One should be correct in matters of form,” said Borg gravely.

Falk signed.

“Come here, Sellén, and witness,” commanded Borg.

“I don’t know whether I ought to,” replied Sellén, “I’ve seen at home, in the country, so much misery arising from such signatures.⁠ ⁠…”

“You are not in the country now, and you are not dealing with peasants. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t witness that Falk’s signature is genuine.”

Sellén signed, shaking his head.

“And now rouse that draught-ox over there and make him, too, witness the signature.”

When all shaking was in vain Borg took the tongs, which were now red-hot, and held them under the sleeper’s nostrils.

“Wake up, you dog, and you shall have something to eat!”

Olle jumped up and rubbed his eyes.

“You are to witness Falk’s signature. Do you understand?”

Olle took the pen and wrote his name in obedience to the two guarantors’ dictation. When he had done so, he turned to the bench to lie down again but Borg prevented him.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “Falk must first sign a counter-guarantee.”

“Don’t do it, Falk,” said Olle; “it’ll end badly, there’ll be trouble.”

“Silence, you dog,” bellowed Borg. “Come here, Falk! We’ve just guaranteed your bill, as you know; all we want now from you is a counter-guarantee in place of Struve’s, against whom an action has been brought.”

“What do you mean by a counter-guarantee?”

“It’s only a matter of form; the loan was for eight hundred crowns on the Painters’ Bank; the first payment has been made, but now that Struve has been proceeded against, we must find a substitute. It’s a safe old loan and there are no risks; the money was due a year ago.”

Falk signed and the other two witnessed.

Borg carefully folded the bills and gave them to Levin who immediately turned to go.

“I’ll give you an hour,” said Borg. “If you are not back with the money by then, I’ll set the police on your track.”

And satisfied with his morning’s work, he stretched himself out on the seat on which Olle had been lying.

The latter staggered to the fire, lay down on the floor and curled himself up like a dog.

For a little while nobody spoke.

“I say, Olle,” said Sellén presently, breaking the silence, “supposing we signed a bill of this sort.⁠ ⁠…”

“You would be sent to Rindö,” said Borg.

“What is Rindö?” asked Sellén.

“A convict prison in the Skerries; but in case the gentlemen should prefer the Lake of Mälar, there’s a prison there called Longholm.”

“But seriously,” said Falk, “what happens if one can’t pay on the day when the money falls due?”

“One takes up a fresh loan at the Tailors’ Bank, for instance,” replied Borg.

“Why don’t you go to the Imperial Bank?” questioned Falk.

“Because it’s rotten!” answered Borg.

“Can you make head or tail out of all this?” said Sellén to Olle.

“I don’t understand a word of it,” answered