"Soren, it's no good; we can't go on like this any longer."
Soren gave a start; he could feel there was thunder in the air.
"We'll have to buy a steamer. Sailing-ships are out of date."
"What's that you say, mother? We two old folks to go fussing about with steam? Nay, I'd rather stick to the old planks till they rot!"
But Cilia went on firmly, altogether unmoved. "We've a decent bit of money in the bank, and shares in other things besides, but the interest's not what it might be, and I don't see the sense of letting other people take all the profits that's to be made out of shipping, while we that's nearest at hand are left behind."
"I don't suppose they're overdone with profits, these here steamboats, when it comes to the point," grumbled Soren. And no more was said about the matter for that day.
But Cilia pondered and speculated still; she read the shipping papers and the shipbrokers' circulars as earnestly as she studied lesson and collect on Sundays.
She found a valuable ally, too, in her son-in-law, Skipper Abrahamsen, who was tired of the "old hulk," as he called Birkebeineren, and longed to be captain of a steamer himself. Fortunately, Soren never heard a word of this, or it would have been ill both for Cilia and Abrahamsen, for he could not bear to hear a word in dispraise of his beloved ship.
Malvina, of course, sided with her husband and her mother, and their united efforts were daily brought to bear upon Soren, till at last he grew so tired of hearing about "that steamboat of ours," that he fled out of the house, and went round to call on Warden Prois whenever the talk turned that way.
There was a little attic in the Braaten's house that had never been used for anything but a box-room; this was now cleared in secret by Cilia and Malvina, and then the three conspirators held meetings and discussions. Abrahamsen and Cilia had quietly made inquiries of various shipbuilding concerns, and received a mass of estimates and plans.