"From what I see in the papers about oil freights from New York and corn freights from the Black Sea, the vessel ought to pay at least twenty per cent," said Pedersen, with an air of superior wisdom. And he brought out a big sheet of paper covered with calculations in English pounds, shillings and pence, which had taken him all the afternoon to work out.
Klementsen had to put on his spectacles and study the figures earnestly; which done, the two newly pledged shipowners solemnly declared "it looks like very good business."
Nachmann was also a shareholder, but had only taken up his holding on condition that he should be purveyor of wines to the ship, "a smart, round vessel like that must get things from a decent firm." He had been busy to-day with a whole cart-load of various wines for the dinner, which the shareholders were to have on board during the trial trip.
Away in the harbour lay the Apollo, Eva Maria, and Birkebeineren; they had had no charters this year. The old craft looked heavy and stout as they lay in the sweltering sun, with pitch oozing from their seams like black tears. It almost looked as if they were weeping at having to lie idle, instead of ploughing through the good salt waters off Lindemor or the Dogger.
Soren Braaten, rowing out over the fjord to meet the steamer, passed close by his old ship Birkebeineren. He cast a loving glance at the dear old piece of timber, and wished he had accepted any freight, however poor, so he had kept out of all this new-fangled business with engine-power and steam. He felt like a traitor to his class, and to all the old things he loved.
He passed the Eva Maria, and there was Bernt Jorgensen standing aft. Bernt had declined to take up shares in the steamer; on the contrary, he had argued earnestly against the project, declaring that Strandvik owed too much to the old sailing ships not to hold by them to the last.
"Aren't you coming on board the steamer?" cried Soren as he came within hail.
"No, thankye, I've no mind for it. I'm better where I am," answered Bernt, and, crossing over, sat down on the half-deck.
He hoisted his flag with the rest, though he felt little inclined to; but it would look strange if the Eva Maria were the only one to refrain. But the bunting was only half-way up when the halliards broke, and the flag remained at half-mast.
Bernt felt it was something of an ill-omen. He went into his cabin, but through the porthole he could see the Henrik Ibsen come gliding into the harbour amid general salutation.