“Kalle Brundin,” he shouted, “Kalle Brundin! All here present join with me! And what do we join in? We join in the belief that this has been a damned fine party. Damned jolly to see you out here in your old Selambshof! Thank you, Kalle Brundin! A fourfold hurrah for Kalle Brundin and his Selambshof. May he live long: hip, hip, hurrah!”
In reply Kalle Brundin pointed with an elegant gesture to the landing stage and the steamer. And instantly the whole company stumbled towards it, so that the table was deserted.
Sssh! Bang! there went the first rocket. And then came cracking grasshoppers and divers that fizzed and spluttered in the water, and golden rains that vomited sparks round the gate posts, and bright Roman candles, and then rockets again and crackers and starlights.
Peter slipped down out of the tree. This was too much. He shrank as if the sparks had rained in his eyes. What was it that sparkled and cracked but Brundin’s arrogance. This abominable Brundin filled the skies with his violent, sneering, exultant pride.
But amidst the smell of powder there came some odours from the table and then it struck Peter that Brundin for the moment was not guarding his interests on the terrace. In a trice Peter was there. Like a frightened, thieving dog he gulped down pieces of meat, cake and whatever was left in the wine glasses. He had not time to taste anything properly and half choked himself, but somehow it did him good all the same. It was as if he had stolen back a little of his own, and with a somewhat easier mind he stole away into the darkness again.
The fireworks were over and the guests stumbled back to their punch glasses again. But now it seemed as if the last remnants of their dignity had vanished with the rockets. Some fell down on the chairs as if their legs had been struck off beneath them. And some stood with their arms round each others’ necks, panting, as if they would drown each other in friendship. And others were quarrelling with raised voices that were lost among the shy shadows of the still August night. But Brundin sat there unperturbed and contented in the midst of the noise, like the devil at a horsefair, smiling with half-closed eyes and puffing at his cigar.