THE AMERICAN-SCANDINA FI AN REVIEW 
407 
to this, and Hamlet too at a pinch. One time Yorick’s skull was to 
have been brought out. The public got impatient and began to cough 
and stamp. But we couldn’t raise the curtain for the church-yard 
scene, because ITamlet had to have the skull to make his speech about. 
There was the skull of a man who had killed his wife and child and one 
and a half bailiffs; we had got the loan of it from the Charles Institute. 
We hunted and hunted. At last I came upon the skull in a trunk. 
The actor who was playing Hamlet was so glad that he promised to 
give me a supper at Stromsholm. He kept his word, too: steak and 
vegetables and fizzy pearls. Afterwards it came out that somebody 
had hid the skull on purpose. It was somebody who wanted to have 
the role and was nearly bursting with jealousy. He certainly needed 
to get out and fish a little, eh ? 
‘‘Well, that was Hamlet. Afterwards I went over to the opera. 
I didn’t regret it; music suited me better. That comes about as a man 
gets older, you see. A man gets tired of the many words. But with 
music one can think anything at all. I was with the opera upwards of 
twenty years, up to last Christmas—Aye, aye, a man gets old. . . . 
Well, so now I get to amuse myself with the boat here and tramping 
for the organ at Jacob’s Church. Yes, that affair of the organ tramp¬ 
ing is a special particular story which we shan’t talk over now,” said 
Lundstrom, who seemed to touch with some shvness his transition to 
the ehurchlv vocation. 
Hereupon the old man again grasped his crank, and up came an¬ 
other splendid batch of fat breams. With friendly, approving com¬ 
ment he let them vanish into the well. 
Look here, to-day is turning out better than I supposed, thought 
Leonard, who could hardly keep from rubbing his hands. My life and 
trade seem really prosperous from the frog’s-eye view of this old 
fisherman. But Lundstrom cast a knowing, sidelong look at him. 
‘‘No, I steal up into the theatre garret sometimes and hear a little 
of this world’s music yet, as old as I am. Though it doesn’t give me 
sleepless nights any more, you see. A man sleeps well when he has a 
big organ to turn to.” 
Leonard smiled more broadly and sat quiet, struck by the old 
man’s repose. This contented frog’s-eye view of the drama of life 
spread out into a wider perspective than he had supposed at the start. 
The old man pointed to a paper sticking out of the artist’s pocket. 
“Should you perhaps care to look what they’re giving up there to¬ 
night? Tristan and Isolde. Indeed! that’s a fine thing. Then I’ll go 
up a while. You see I’ve been with them and set scenes for that opera, 
so it’s an old acquaintance. Well, and so I’ll thank you for your help. 
It’s past eight and that will have to be enough of the breams till 
to-night.” 
It was in fact drawing on towards evening. Heaven’s great voy- 
