ou can try."

No, Lars Peter would not do that. He realized these were folk it was
better to avoid. Then he sauntered out into the town. At Hauserplads
there was an inn kept by a man he knew--he would look him up. Maybe
he could give him a little help in managing the affair.

The street-lamps were just being lit, although it was not nearly
dark; evidently there was no lack of money here. Lars Peter
clattered in his big boots down towards Frue Plads, examining the
houses as he went. This stooping giant, with faded hat and cape,
looked like a wandering piece of the countryside. When he asked the
way his voice rang through the street--although it was not loud for
him. People stopped and laughed. Then he laughed back again and made
some joke or other, which, though he did not mean it, sounded like a
storm between the rows of houses. Gradually a crowd of children and
young people gathered and followed in his wake. When they shouted
after him he took it with good humor, but was not altogether at his
ease until he reached the tavern. Here he took out his red pocket
handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

"Hullo! Hans Mattisen," he shouted down into the dark cellar. "D'you
know an old friend again, what?" His joy over having got so far made
his voice sound still more overpowering than usual; there was
hardly room for it under the low ceiling.

"Not so fast, not so fast!" came from a jolly voice behind the
counter, "wait until I get a light."

When the gas was lit, they found they did not know each other at
all. Hans Mattisen had left years ago. "Don't you worry about that,"
said the inn-keeper, "sit down." After Lars Peter had seated
himself, he was given some lobscouse and a small bottle of wine, and
soon felt at peace with the world.

The inn-keeper was a pleasant man with a keen sense of humor. Lars
Peter was glad of a talk with him, and before he was aware of it,
had poured out all his troubles. Well, he had come down here to get
advice; and he had not gone far wrong either.

"Is that all?" said the inn-keeper, "we'll soon put that right.
We've only to send a message to the Bandmaster."

"Who's that?" asked Lars Peter.

"Oh, he has the cleverest head in the world; there's not a piece of
music but he can manage it. Curious fellow--never met one like him.
For example, he can't bear dogs, because once a police-dog took him
for an ordinary thief. He never can forget that. Therefore, if he
asks, y