Old Lorentz D. Uthoug rarely visited his rich sister at Bruseth, but to-day he had taken his weary way up there, and the two masterful old folks sat now facing each other.
“So you’ve managed to find your way up here?” said Aunt Marit, throwing out her ample bosom and rubbing her knees like a man.
“Why, yes—I thought I’d like to see how you were getting on,” said Uthoug, squaring his broad shoulders.
“Quite well, thanks. Having no son-in-law, I’m not likely to go bankrupt, I daresay.”
“I’m not bankrupt, either,” said old Uthoug, fixing his red eyes on her face.
“Perhaps not. But what about him?”
“Neither is he. He’ll be a rich man before very long.”
“He!—rich! Did you say rich?”
“Before a year’s out,” answered the old man calmly. “But you’ll have to help.”
“I!” Aunt Marit shifted her chair backwards, gaping. “I, did you say? Ha-ha-ha! Just tell me, how many hundreds of thousands did he lose over that ditch or drain or whatever it was?”
“He was six months behind time in finishing it, I know. But the Company agreed to halve the forfeit for delay when they’d seen what a masterpiece the work was.”
“Ah, yes—and what about the contractors, whom he couldn’t pay, I hear?”
“He’s paid them all in full now. The Bank arranged things.”
“I see. After you and he had mortaged every stick and rag you had in the world. Yes, indeed—you deserve a good whipping, the pair of you!”
Uthoug stroked his beard. “From a financial point of view the thing wasn’t a success for him, I’ll admit. But I can show you here what the engineering people say about it in the technical papers. Here’s an article with pictures of him and of the barrage.”
“Well! he’d better keep his family on pictures in the papers then,” said the widow, paying no attention to the paper he offered.
“He’ll soon be on top again,” said her brother, putting the papers back in his pocket. He sat there in front of her quite unruffled. He would let people see that he was not the man to be crushed by a reverse; that there were other things he valued more than money.
“Soon be on top?” repeated Aunt Marit. “Has he got round you again with some nonsense?”
“He’s invented a new mowing machine. It’s nearly finished. And the experts say it will be worth a million.”
“Ho! and you want to come over me with a tale like that?” The widow shifted her chair a little farther back.
“You must help us to carry on through this year—both of us. If you will stand security for thirty thousand, the bank . . .”
Aunt Marit of Bruseth slapped her knees emphatically. “I’ll do nothing of the sort!”
“For twenty thousand, then?”
“Not for twenty pence!”
Lorentz Uthoug fixed his gaze on his sister’s face; his red eyes began to glow.
“You’ll have to do it, Marit,” he said calmly. He took a pipe from his pocket and set to work to fill and light it.
The two sat for a while looking at each other, each on the alert for fear the other’s will should prove the stronger. They looked at each other so long that at last both smiled involuntarily.
“I suppose you’ve taken to going to church with your wife now?” asked the widow at last, her eyes blinking derision.
“If I put my trust in the Lord,” he said, “I might just sit down and pray and let things go to ruin. As it is, I’ve more faith in human works, and that’s why I’m here now.”
The answer pleased her. The widow at Bruseth was no churchgoer herself. She thought the Lord had made a bad mistake in not giving her any children.
“Will you have some coffee?” she asked, rising from her seat.
“Now you’re talking sense,” said her brother, and his eyes twinkled. He knew his sister and her ways. And now he lit his pipe and leaned back comfortably in his chair.
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