Niels Daae took the story of our troubles very seriously.  “Every pot has two handles,” he began.  “Every sausage two ends, every question two sides, except this one—­this has three.” (Applause.) “When we look at it from the legal point of view there can be no doubt that it belongs in the category of ordinary theft.  But from the fact that the thief took only the arms when he might have taken the entire skeleton, we must conclude that he is not in a responsible condition of mind, which therefore introduces a medical side to the affair.  From a legal point of view, the thief must be convicted for robbery, or at least for the illegal appropriation of the property of others; but from the medical point of view, we must acquit him, because he is not responsible for his acts.  Here we have two professions quarreling with one another, and who shall say which is right?  But now I will introduce the theological point of view, and raise the entire affair up to a higher plane.  Providence, in the material shape of a patron of mine in the country, whose children I have inoculated with the juice of wisdom, has sent me two fat geese and two first-class ducks.  These animals are to be cooked and eaten this evening in Mathiesen’s establishment, and I invite this honored company to join me there.  Personally I look upon the disappearance of these arms as an all-wise intervention of Providence, which sets its own inscrutable wisdom up against the wisdom which we would otherwise have heard from the lips of my venerable friend Soelling.”

Daae’s confused speech was received with laughter and applause, and Soelling’s weak protests were lost in the general delight at the invitation.  I have often noticed that such improvised festivities are usually the most enjoyable, and so it was for us that evening.  Niels Daae treated us to his ducks and to his most amusing jokes, Soelling sang his best songs, our jovial host Mathiesen told his wittiest stories, and the merriment was in full swing when we heard cries in the street, and then a rush of confused noises broken by screams of pain.

“There’s been an accident,” cried Soelling, running out to the door.

We all followed him and discovered that a pair of run-away horses had thrown a carriage against a tree, hurling the driver from his box, under the wheels.  His right arm had been broken near the shoulder.  In the twinkling of an eye the hall of festivities was transformed into an emergency hospital.  Soelling shook his head as he examined the injury, and ordered the transport of the patient to the city hospital.  It was his belief that the arm would have to be amputated, cut off at the shoulder joint, just as had been the case with our skeleton.  “Damned odd coincidence, isn’t it?” he remarked to me.

Our merry mood had vanished and we took our way, quiet and depressed, through the old avenues toward our home.  For the first time in its existence possibly, our venerable “barracks,” as we called the dormitory, saw its occupants returning home from an evening’s bout just as the night watchman intoned his eleven o’clock verse.