Part 24 (1/2)
”Remember that time we went shark-fis.h.i.+ng?” asked Klaus.
”Oh yes--that shark. Let me see--you were a hero, weren't you, and beat it to death with your bare fists--wasn't that it?” And then ”Cut the line, cut the line, and row for your lives,” he mimicked, and burst out laughing.
”Oh, shut up now and don't be so witty,” said Klaus. ”But tell me, have you ever been back there since you came home?”
Peer told him that he had been to the village last year. His old foster-parents were dead, and Peter Ronningen too; but Martin Bruvold was there still, living in a tiny cottage with eight children.
”Poor devil!” said Klaus.
Ferdinand Holm had sat down again, and now he nodded towards the moon.
”An old chum of yours? Well, why don't we send him a thousand crowns?”
There was a little pause. ”I hope you'll let me join you,” went on Ferdinand, taking a note for five hundred crowns from his waistcoat pocket. ”You don't mind, do you?”
Peer glanced at him and took the note. ”I'm delighted for poor old Martin's sake,” he said, putting the note in his waistcoat pocket.
”That'll make fifteen hundred for him.”
Klaus Brock looked from one to the other and smiled a little. The talk turned on other things for a while, and then he asked:
”By the way, Peer, have you seen that advertis.e.m.e.nt of the British Carbide Company's?”
”No, what about?”
”They want tenders for the damming and harnessing of the Besna River, with its lake system and falls. That should be something in your line.”
”No,” said Ferdinand sharply. ”I told you before--that job's too small for him. Peer's going to the Euphrates.”
”What would it amount to, roughly?” said Peer, addressing no one in particular.
”As far as I could make out, it should be a matter of a couple of million crowns or thereabout,” said Klaus.
”That's not a thing for Peer,” said Ferdinand, rising and lifting his hand to hide a yawn. ”Leave trifles like that to the trifling souls.
Good-night, gentlemen.”
A couple of hours later, when all was silent throughout the house, Peer was still up, wandering to and fro in soft felt slippers in the great hall. Now and again he would stop, and look out of the window. Why could he not sleep? The moon was paling, the day beginning to dawn.
Chapter VIII
The next morning Merle was alone in the pantry when she heard steps behind her, and turned her head. It was Klaus Brock.
”Good-morning, madam--ah! so this is what you look like in morning dress. Why, morning neglige might have been invented for you, if I may say so. You might be a Ghirlandajo. Or no, better still, Aspasia herself.”
”You are up early,” said Merle drily.
”Am I? What about Ferdinand Holm then? He has been up since sunrise, sitting over his letters and accounts. Anything I can help you with? May I move that cheese for you?--Well, well! you are strong. But there, I'm always de trop where women are concerned.”
”Always de trop?” repeated Merle, watching him through her long lashes.