Part 13 (1/2)

”I'll have a good talk with him,” he said.

There followed a period in which Paul was sober from morning till night, when Manufacturer Brede paid us a visit. The flag was hoisted, and there was great commotion at the farm; Josephine's feet said _whrr_ under her skirt. The manufacturer arrived with a porter; his wife and children went far down the road to meet him, and the visitors at the resort sallied forth too.

”Good morning!” he greeted us with a great flourish of his hat. He won us all over. He was big and friendly, fat and cheerful, with the broad good cheer that plenty of money gives. He became good friends with us at once.

”How long are you staying, Daddy?” his little girls asked, as they clung to him.

”Three days.”

”Is that all!” said his wife.

”Is that all?” he replied, laughing. ”That's not such a short time, my dear; three days is a lot for me.”

”But not for me and the children,” she said.

”Three whole days,” he repeated. ”I can tell you I've had to do some moving to be able to stay as quiet as this, ha, ha!”

They all went in. The manufacturer had been here before and knew the way to his wife's cottage. He ordered soda water at once.

In the evening, when the children had gone to bed, the manufacturer and his wife joined us in the living room; he had brought whisky with him for the gentlemen, and ordered soda water; for the ladies he had wine. It was quite a little party, the manufacturer playing the host with skill, and we were all well satisfied. When Miss Palm played folk melodies on the piano, this heavy-built man grew quiet and sentimental; but he didn't think only of himself, for suddenly he went out and lowered the flag. Flags should be lowered at sunset, he said. Once or twice he went across to the cottage, too, to see if the children were sleeping well. Generally speaking, he seemed fond of the children. Though he owned factories and hotels and many other things, yet he seemed to take the greatest pride of all in possessing a couple of children.

One of the men from Bergen struck his gla.s.s for silence, and began to make a speech.

The Bergensians had all long been very quiet and retiring, but here was a perfect occasion for making speeches. Was not here a man from the great world outside, from the heart of life, who had brought them wine and good cheer and festivity? Strange wares up here in this world of blue mountains ... and so on.

He talked for about five minutes, and became very animated.

The manufacturer told us a little about Iceland--a neutral country that neither the a.s.sociate Master nor the lawyer had visited, and therefore could not disagree about. One of the Danes had been there and was able to confirm the justness of the manufacturer's impressions.

But most of the time he told cheerful anecdotes:

”I have a servant, a young lad, who said to me one day, when I was in a bad temper: 'You've become a great hand at swearing in Icelandic!' Ha, ha, ha--he appreciated me: 'a great hand at swearing in Icelandic,' he said!”

Everybody laughed, and his wife asked:

”And what did you say?”

”What did I say? Why, I couldn't say anything, could I, ha, ha, ha!”

Then another man from Bergen took the floor: we must not forget we had the family of a real man of the world with us here--his wife, ”this peerless lady, scattering charm and delight about her,” and the children, dancing b.u.t.terflies! And a few minutes later, ”Hip, hip, hurrah!” followed by a flourish on the piano.

The manufacturer drank a toast with his wife.

”Well, that's that!” was all he said.

Mrs. Molie sat off in a corner talking in a loud voice with the Dane who had come over the top of the Tore from the wrong end; she seemed purposely to be talking so audibly. The manufacturer's attention was attracted, and he asked for further information about the motor cars in the neighboring valley: how many there were, and how fast they could go. The Dane told him.

”But just imagine coming across the fjeld from the other side!” said Mrs.

Molie. ”It hasn't been done before.”