t into the cart. Now he knew what to do, and he was anxious to
act. Day and night he had been faced with the question of getting
Soerine out of prison, but how? It was no good trying to climb the
prison wall at night, and fetch her out, as one read of in books.
But he could go to the King! Had he not himself nearly been taken
into the King's service as a guardsman? "He's got the height and the
build," they had said. Then they had noticed his flat feet and
rejected him; but still he had said he almost----

CHAPTER III

LARS PETER SEEKS THE KING

Lars Peter Hansen knew nothing of the Capital. As a boy he had been
there with his father, but since then no opportunity had arisen for
a trip to Copenhagen. He and Soerine had frequently spoken of taking
their goods there and selling direct to the big firms, instead of
going the round of the small provincial dealers, but nothing had
ever come of it beyond talk. But today the thing was to be done. He
had seen posters everywhere advertising: "The largest house in
Scandinavia for rags and bones and old metals," and "highest prices
given." It was the last statement which had attracted him.

Lars Peter sat reckoning up, as he drove along the Lyngby road
towards the eastern end of the city. Going by prices at home he had
a good hundred crowns' worth of goods on the cart; and here it ought
to fetch at least twenty-five crowns more. That would perhaps pay
for Soerine's release. This was killing two birds with one stone,
getting Soerine out--and making money on the top of it! All that was
necessary was to keep wide awake. He lifted his big battered hat and
ran his hand through his tousled mop of hair--he was in a happy
mood.

At Trianglen he stopped and inquired his way. Then driving through
Blegdamsvej he turned into a side street. Over a high wooden paling
could be seen mountains of old rusty iron: springs and empty tins,
bent iron beds, dented coal-boxes red with rust, and pails. This
must be the place. On the signboard stood: _Levinsohn & Sons,
Export_.

The rag and bone man turned in through the gateway and stopped
bewildered as he came into the yard. Before him were endless
erections of storing-places and sheds, one behind the other, and
inclosures with masses of rags, dirty cotton-wool and rusty iron and
tin-ware. From every side other yards opened out, and beyond these
more again. If he and Klavs went gathering rags until Doomsday, they
would never be able to fil