ment of politeness, but not a word did he have to say for himself; his manners were abrupt and tinged with a certain shyness. He no longer wrote his name Olsen, but Ohlsen, which gave the wags of the town opportunity for the following conundrum:—
“How far did Peter Olsen get in Hamburg?”
Answer: “To the first letter.”
He had furthermore meditated calling himself “Pedro;” but having had so much annoyance to endure for the sake of the h, he gave up this idea and subscribed himself P. Ohlsen. He enlarged his father’s business, and at the age of twenty-two married a shop-girl with red hands in order to have some one to keep house; for his father had just become a widower and Peter thought it was safer to take a wife than a housekeeper. On the anniversary of their wedding-day, she presented him with a son, who a week later was christened Pedro.
Now that worthy Per Olsen had become a grandfather, he felt, as it were, an inner call to grow old, so he gave up his business to his son, took a seat on a bench outside the door and smoked plug tobacco in a short pipe. Discovering one day that life was growing tedious out there he began to wish for a speedy death, and as all his wishes had been quietly fulfilled, so it was with this one.
