"_Goddag_, Isak. So you're
doing me the honour to come and see my auction sale. Thanks, thanks.
Ay, we've been neighbours and friends these many years now, and never
an ill word between us." Brede grows pathetic. "Ay, 'tis strange to
think of leaving a place where you've lived and toiled and grown fond
of. But what's a man to do when it's fated so to be?"
"Maybe 'twill be better for you after," says Isak comfortingly.
"Why," says Brede, grasping at it himself, "to tell the truth, I think
it will. I'm not regretting it, not a bit. I won't say I've made a
fortune on the place here, but that's to come, maybe; and the young
ones getting older and leaving the nest--ay, 'tis true the wife's got
another on the way; but for all that...." And suddenly Brede tells his
news straight out: "I've given up the telegraph business."
"What?" asks Isak.
"I've given up that telegraph."
"Given up the telegraph?"
"Ay, from new year to be. What was the good of it, anyway? And
supposing I was out on business, or driving for the Lensmand or the
doctor, then to have to look after the telegraph first of all--no,
there's no sense nor meaning in it that way.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381