I'd go on dancing all the more, For I'm acquainted with the law, And in despite of all their jaw, Their protests I deride." Had not the landlord at this moment knocked at the door, it is probable that quite a long poem might have been laid before the reader. To judge from his look of surprise when he found himself in the room, Herr Kristensen was struck, as Anderson had been, by something unusual in its aspect. But he made no remark. Anderson's photographs interested him mightily, and formed the text of many autobiographical discourses. Nor is it quite clear how the conversation could have been diverted into the desired channel of Number 13, had not the lawyer at this moment begun to sing, and to sing in a manner which could leave no doubt in anyone's mind[Pg 62] that he was either exceedingly drunk or raving mad. It was a high, thin voice that they heard, and it seemed dry, as if from long disuse. Of words or tune there was no question. It went sailing up to a surprising height, and was carried down with a despairing moan as of a winter wind in a hollow chimney, or an organ whose wind fails suddenly. It was a really horrible sound, and Anderson felt that if he had been alone he must have fled for refuge and society to some neighbour bagman's room. [Pg 62] The landlord sat open-mouthed. "I don't understand it," he said at last, wiping his forehead. "It is dreadful. I have heard it once before, but I made sure it was a cat." "Is he mad?" said Anderson. "He must be; and what a sad thing! Such a good customer, too, and so successful in his business, by what I hear, and a young family to bring up." Just then came an impatient knock at the door, and the knocker entered, without waiting to be asked. It was the lawyer, in deshabille and very rough-haired; and very angry he looked. "I beg pardon, sir," he said, "but I should be much obliged if you would kindly desist—" Here he stopped, for it was evident that neither of the persons before him was responsible for the disturbance; and after a moment's lull
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