nsciousness of it irritated him, and turning back
impatiently, he knocked loudly at the door.

No sound from within. He felt as if thousands of eyes were watching
him scornfully, and for a moment he thought of flight. He knocked
again, hurriedly, nervously.

A pause, that seemed unendurably long, then a sound of movement and
steps approaching the door--the panel was moved aside.

"What's all the noise about?" cried a woman's shrill voice. "In a
hurry, aren't you? Get along, and that quick--off with you!" The panel
closed with a slam.

The blood rushed to Olof's cheeks; for a moment he felt like breaking
down the door and flinging it into the street--he would gladly have
pulled the house down in his fury.

Wondering faces appeared here and there at the windows. They were
looking at him as if he were a criminal--a burglar trying to force an
entry in broad daylight. Half-running, he hastened back to the main
streets of the town. Then the fury seized him again--a passion of
wounded pride and defiance. "Am I to be taken for a boy?" he said to
himself angrily.

He passed a row of waiting cabs. One of the men touched his cap
inquiringly, but Olof shook his head--the fellow had an honest face.
The last in the row gave him what he sought--a sly red face with
shifty eyes.

"Eh? Take you?... That's easy enough! I know the very house.
First-rate girls, all of them, and no trouble. 'Tis the best sort
you'll be wanting, I take it?"

"Yes."

"That's the style. Just step in, now, and we'll be there...."

The cab rumbles away; Olof leans back, feeling himself again.

* * * * *

Through a gateway into a cobbled yard. The driver gets down, and Olof
follows suit. The man knocks with the handle of his whip at a door.

"'Tis no good coming at this time--the girls aren't here yet." And the
door is slammed in his face.

"Drive on, then! Drive to the devil, only let's get out of this,"
cries Olof.

"Nay, nay, no call to give up now we're on the way." The driver swings
out into the street again, and tries another entrance of the same sort
farther on.

Olof stood half-dazed, waiting.

This time the knock was answered by a girl's voice, bright and
pleasant. The driver and the girl exchanged whispers through the door.
"Sober? Ay, he's sober enough. Young chap, and plenty of money--wants
the best sort."

Olof's blood boiled. Was he to be bargained for like a beast in the
cattle market? He was