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Why, nothing very much, 'tis only Andresen, the chief clerk from Storborg, come up for a bit of a walk this way his master having sent him. Nothing more. And no great excitement among the folk at Sellanraa over that 'twas not as in the old days, when a stranger was a rare sight on their new land, and Inger made a great to-do. No, Inger's grown quieter now, and keeps to herself these days.
Isak puts in a word here; like as not he's more curious to know than Inger herself, but it must not seem that the idea of buying Storborg is any thought of his; he makes himself a stranger to it, and says now: "Why, what you want to know for, Inger?" "I was but asking," says she. And both of them look at Andresen, waiting.
'Twas only at first he had been somewhat inclined to show and play the fine gentleman, and that was the fault of his master Aronsen. It was different now. In the spring, when the bogs were thawed some depth, Sivert came down from Sellanraa to Storborg, to start a bit of ditching for his brother, and lo, Andresen himself went out on the land digging too.
Andresen is no fool; he has taken over the place on lease for the meanwhile, and manages the business himself. Gone through the stock in hand, and found a deal of unsalable truck in Eleseus' store, even to such things as toothbrushes and embroidered table centres; ay, and stuffed birds on springs that squeaked when you pressed in the right place.
"Not a bit of it," says Andresen. Next morning a man walks into their camp a pale, haggard man who looks at them frowningly, piercingly. "That you, Andresen?" says the man. It is Aronsen, Aronsen the trader. He does not say "No" to a cup of hot coffee and something to eat with the caravan, and settles down at once. "I saw the smoke of your fire, and came up to see what it was," says he.
Andresen drank and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and looked at the time. "Is it far up to the mines?" he asked. "No, 'tis an hour's walk, or hardly that." "I'm going up to look over them, d'you see, for him, Aronsen I'm his chief clerk." "Ho!" "You'll know me yourself, no doubt; I'm Aronsen's chief clerk. You've been down buying things at our place before." "Ay."
"How d'you think he's getting on, Eleseus?" asks Isak suddenly. "Getting on?" says Sivert, to gain time. "Doesn't seem to be doing so well." "H'm. He says it'll go all right." "You spoken to him about it?" "Nay; but Andresen he says so." Isak thought over this, and shook his head. "Nay, I doubt it's going ill," says he. "Tis a pity for the lad."
A night's sleep thrown away, to walk miles up and miles down again, and work next day as usual 'twas nothing to a young man in his strength, and a bright gold piece was worth it all. Andresen was a little inclined to make fun of him over the deal, but Sivert was not at a loss; he had only to let fall a word of Leopoldine. "There! I was nearly forgetting.
And father and son drive off. Andresen watches them from the door of the shop and wishes a pleasant journey. Isak is all thought for his boy, and would give him the seat to himself; but Eleseus will have none of that, and 'sits up by his side. They come to Breidablik, and suddenly Eleseus has forgotten something. "Ptro! What is it?" asks his father. Oh, his umbrella!
And every evening the three young salesmen met at an appointed place and went over the day's trade, each borrowing from another anything he'd sold out of; and Andresen would sit down, often as not, and take out a file and file away the German trade-mark from a sportsman's whistle, or rub out "Faber" on the pens and pencils. Andresen was a trump, and always had been.
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