They talked more with her; she was thin and young, evidently a servant girl. They also looked at the child, and Helgesen and Lind, who were both short-sighted, polished their glasses and inspected it carefully. "Are you going off to drown the child?" somebody says. "No," says the girl in confusion. That was a nasty question, all the others agreed, and the first one admitted it. He went off to fetch his raincoat, and hung it over the girl's shoulders. Then he tickled the child under the chin and made it smile--a marvel of a child, human bones and rags and dirt all in one little bundle. "Poor bastard," he said. "Born of a maiden!" "That's better!" the others remarked. "Now let's do something," they said. "Where do you live?" to the girl. "I've lived at such and such places," she replied. "_Have_ lived; very well, this is what we'll do," one of them said, taking out his pocketbook. The others followed suit, and a great deal of money was pushed into the girl's hand. "Wait a minute--wait--I haven't given her enough; I asked her such a nasty question," said the first of them. "Neither have I," said another, "because we all thought the same thing, but now we're going to settle some money on this son of a maiden!" A collection was taken up, with Helgesen as the cashier. Then Bengt hailed a cab, invited the girl to enter, and got in after her. "Go ahead--I want to go to Langes Street!" he called to the driver. Bengt was taking the child home to his mother, the others said. The group were rather silent after this. "Your eyes are so ridiculously wet, Bolt; are you crying about the money?" "What about you?" Bolt replied. "You're as sentimental as an old woman!" They grew cheerful again, and there were further "opportunities." A peasant came down the street with a cow he was taking to the butcher's. "What will you charge for letting our guest of honor ride your cow?" young Rolandsen asked him. The peasant smiled and shook his head. So they bought the cow from him, paying cash for it. "Wait a minute," they said to the peasant. Then they put a label on the cow, addressed to a lady they knew. "Take it to this address," they said to the peasant. By the time they had finished with this, Bengt had returned. "Where have _you_ been?" they asked in surprise. "The old lady said yes," was all he replied. "Hurrah!" they all shouted. "Let's drink to the baby! Here, let's go to the bar. Did she really say yes? Hurrah for the old lady, too! What are we standing here for? Let's walk into the bar!" _"Walk!"_ someone mocks. "No, indeed, we'll drive-waiter, cars!" The waiter rushed inside to telephone. It took some time, as it was getting late, but the gentlemen waited. It was already closing time and people were streaming out of the bar. At length the cars arrived, ten of them, one for each man. The gentlemen entered them. "Where to?" asked the drivers. "Next door," they said.