Strand was scientifically
convinced that Nature, in accordance with some
inscrutable law of equilibrium, had found it
necessary to make him physically unattractive,
perhaps to indemnify mankind for that excess
of intellectual gifts which, at the expense of the
race at large, she had bestowed upon him.
Early the next morning, as a kind of etherealized
sunshine broke through the white muslin
curtains of Arnfinn's room, and long streaks of
sun-illumined dust stole through the air toward
the sleeper's pillow, there was a sharp rap at the
door, and Strand entered. His knapsack was
strapped over his shoulders, his long staff was in
his hand, and there was an expression of
conscious martyrdom in his features. Arnfinn
raised himself on his elbows, and rubbed his
eyes with a desperate determination to get
awake, but only succeeded in gaining a very
dim impression of a beard, a blue woolen shirt,
and a disproportionately large shoe buckle. The
figure advanced to the bed, extended a broad,
sun-burned hand, and a deep bass voice was
heard to say:
"Good-bye, brother."
Arnfinn, who was a hard sleeper, gave another
rub, and, in a querulously sleepy tone, managed
to mutter:
"Why,--is it as late as that--already?"
The words of parting were more remotely
repeated, the hand closed about Arnfinn's half-
unfeeling fingers, the lock on the door gave a
little sharp click, and all was still. But the
sunshine drove the dust in a dumb, confused dance
through the room.
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