When it was autumn and the winter wind began to blow, the pilchards
came in their thousands and swam through the musical box. It was
like a farewell concert, and nothing else, and the seagulls and
stormy petrels came in crowds to listen to it. And in the night the
musical box was carried out to sea; that was the end of the matter.



THE SLUGGARD

Conductor Crossberg was fond of lying in bed in the morning,
firstly, because he had to conduct the orchestra in the evening,
and secondly, because he drank more than one glass of beer before
he went home and to bed. He had tried once or twice to get up early,
but had found no sense in it. He had called on a friend, but had
found him asleep; he had wanted to pay money into the bank, but had
found it still closed; he had gone to the library to borrow music,
but it was not yet open; he had wanted to use the electric trams,
but they had not yet started running. It was impossible to get a
cab at this hour of the morning; he could not even buy a pinch of
his favourite snuff; there was nothing at all for him to do. And
so he had eventually formed the habit of staying in bed until late;
and after all, he had no one to please but himself.

He loved the sun and flowers and children; but he could not live on
the sunny side of the street on account of his delicate instruments,
which were out of tune almost as soon as they were put into a sunny
room.

Therefore, on the 1st of April, he took rooms which faced north.