Egholm sat down on a ragged mattress, and covered his face with his hands.
If only he had something--some precious gift--to offer Vang. But he had nothing--not a copper _øre_ in his pocket; not a thing. Not so much as a bite of bread for himself, still less for Vang. And what about the others?...
_The fowl!_ The thought of it seemed to flow like something rich and soft and fat right out to his fingers. He straightened himself up and looked round--yes, there it was, in the perambulator.
"I was going to ask you to supper, Vang. My wife's brought a fowl along, a fine fat bird, almost as big as a drake. But I suppose you've something better for supper yourself?"
He gauged Vang's hunger by the rumbling of his own empty paunch, and made every effort to persuade him.
"A fine bird, a delicious bird; the size of a drake as nearly as can be."
Egholm was not quite sure whether a duck or a drake would be the larger, but took the word as it came into his head, to help him in his need.
Vang could not resist. He smacked his lips, and said:
"I could go down to Father's place, of course. They can't refuse me anything there, after all, though they do keep me waiting and make things as uncomfortable as they can. If only I could be sure your wife wouldn't mind...."
"Not a bit, not a bit," said Egholm cheerfully, relieved that all was well again. He had been cruel, by an unfortunate chance, but now he had wiped that out. Briskly he took up the parcel with the delicious bird, and even played ball with it as he went towards the dark-room door. The business in there before sickened him unspeakably.
There was a moment of deadly silence as he opened the door, but hardly had he taken a step forward when he ran against a shadow that would not let him pass. Next moment he felt Hedvig's skinny hands like claws, one at his chest, the other gripping his throat, as she hissed out:
"You dare to touch Mother again--you dare! Quick, Mother, take Emanuel and run!"
Egholm was more astonished than angry at first. What was all this?
But--ugh! it hurt! He tried in vain to wrest her hands away; then he struck at her head. But she ducked down between his arms and butted him over against the stove.
"Let go, you little devil!--oh, help! she's strangling me!"