He was awakened from his reverie by the magistrate himself, who came up behind and looked over his shoulder inquisitively.
"Well, and what are we looking out at, eh?"
"Oh, only those two funny old women over in the woollen shop; I never saw such queer things as they are."
"Nothing to look at in them that I can see," said the magistrate, who was by no means a woman-hater. And, taking his hat and stick, he bustled out.
A moment later Old Nick entered, flushed and out of breath. "Old man in?"—"No."—"Good!" He flung himself down in a chair and handed the list across to Smith.
"Puh! Devil take it, but this is hard work. And all for you and your lady-love. You don't deserve it."
Smith took the list and began counting the names. "Seventy-two—why, that's splendid, Nickelsen; you're a trump."
"Yes; don't you think I deserve a medal for it, what? Oh, by the way, though, we must hurry up and get hold of Prois himself now, or we'll have somebody else telling him all about it beforehand."
The esteemed fellow-citizen was busy down at the waterside, with a big pile-driver repairing the landing-stage. The men hauled at the ropes, while he stood by, calling the time in approved sing-song: "And one ohoy, and two ohoy, and three...." he stopped short at sight of Smith and Nickelsen approaching. He looked by no means pleased as he handed over command to Pilot Iversen, and told him to carry on with the pile-driving.
Tulla Prois was in the kitchen, making fish-balls; but on seeing the three men enter in solemn procession, she ran off in a fright to the attic, hid herself in a corner and burst out crying violently; evidently the matter was to be decided now once and for all. "Oh, it's mean of Thor," she murmured. "Why couldn't he wait till father was in a better temper?"