He was meditating upon a speech—­a speech beyond the scope of the regulation after-dinner orations.  This was something very remarkable; for the merchant was no speaker, and—­what was still more remarkable—­he knew it himself.

When, therefore, well on in the dinner, he hammered upon the table for silence, and said that he must give expression to a sentiment that lay at his heart, everybody instantly felt that something unusual was impending.

There fell such a sudden stillness upon the table, that one could hear the lively chatter of the ladies, who, in accordance with Norse custom, were dining in the adjoining rooms.

At length the silence reached even them, and they crowded in the doorway to listen.  Only the hostess held back, sending her husband an anxious look.  ‘Ah, dear me!’ she sighed, half aloud, ’he is sure to make a muddle of it.  He has already made all his speeches; what would he be at now?’

And he certainly did not begin well.  He stammered, cleared his throat, got entangled among the usual toast expressions, such as ’I will not fail to—­ahem—­I am impelled to express my, my—­that is, I would beg you, gentlemen, to assist me in—­’

The gentlemen sat and stared down into their glasses, ready to empty them upon the least hint of a conclusion.  But none came.  On the contrary, the speaker recovered himself.

For something really lay at his heart.  His joy and pride over his son, who had come home sound and well after having passed a respectable examination, the judge’s flattering speech, the good cheer, the wine, the festive mood—­all this put words into his mouth.  And when he got over the fatal introductory phrases, the words came more and more fluently.

It was the toast of ‘The Young.’  The speaker dwelt upon our responsibility towards children, and the many sorrows—­but also the many joys—­that the parents have in them.

He was from time to time compelled to talk quickly to hide his emotion, for he felt what he said.

And when he came to the grown-up children, when he imagined his dear son a partner in his business, and spoke of grandchildren and so on, his words acquired a ring of eloquence which astonished all his hearers, and his peroration was greeted with hearty applause.

’For, gentlemen, it is in these children that we, as it were, continue our existence.  We leave them not only our name, but also our work.  And we leave them this, not that they may idly enjoy its fruits, but that they may continue it, extend it—­yes, do it much better than their fathers were able to.  For it is our hope that the rising generation may appropriate the fruits of the work of the age, that they may be freed from the prejudices that have darkened the past and partially darken the present; and, in drinking the health of the young, let us wish that, steadily progressing, they may become worthy of their sires—­yes, let us say it—­outgrow them.