It is ten o'clock. He leaves his table and goes to the back room where
his grog awaits him. This is the time when the bookseller arrives.
They play a game of chess or talk about books. At half-past ten the
second violin from the Dramatic Theatre drops in. He is an old Pole
who, after 1864, escaped to Sweden, and now makes a living by his
former hobby. Both the Pole and the bookseller are over fifty, but
they get on with the schoolmaster as if he were a contemporary.
The proprietor has his place behind the counter. He is an old sea
captain who fell in love with the proprietress and married her. She
rules in the kitchen, but the sliding panel is always open, so that
she can keep an eye on the old man, lest he should take a glass too
much before closing time. Not until the gas has been turned out, and
the old man is ready to go to bed, is he allowed a nightcap in the
shape of a stiff glass of rum and water.
At eleven o'clock the young bloods begin to arrive; they approach the
counter diffidently and ask the proprietor in a whisper whether any of
the private rooms upstairs are disengaged, and then there is a rustling
of skirts in the hall and cautious footsteps are creeping upstairs.
"Well," says the bookseller, who has suddenly found a topic of
conversation, "when are you going to be married, Blom, old man?"
"I haven't the means to get married," answered the school-master.
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