A narrow door with a grating in the centre.  Olof stood a moment, evidently in doubt, and walked on—­his heart was thumping in his breast.  The consciousness 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 on the point of calling the man away, when the door opened a little.  “Right you are, then,” said the man, with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

“Good evening—­won’t you come in?” A young girl, neatly dressed, held the door open for Olof with a smile.