Bramsen had no idea of the value of money, or its proper use and application, wherefore Andrine had, in course of time, taken over charge of the family finances, and kept the savings-bank book,—a treasure which Bramsen himself was allowed to view on rare occasions, and then only from the outside, its contents being quite literally a closed book to him. Amanda and he would often put their heads together and fall to guessing how much there might be in the book, "taking it roughly like," but the riddle remained unsolved.
Every month Bramsen brought home his pay and delivered it dutifully into Andrine's hands; he made no mention, however, of the ten-shilling rise that had been given him, but spent the money on little extras and outings for himself and Amanda, whom he found it hard to refuse at any time.
A month before, it had been her great wish to have an album "to write poetry in"; all the other girls in her class had one, and she simply couldn't be the only one without. Bramsen could not understand what pleasure there was to be got out of such an article; much better to get a song book with printed words and have done with it. But Amanda scorned the suggestion, and the album was duly bought. She had got two entries in it already, one from Verger Klemmeken of Strandvik, an old friend of her father's, who wrote in big straggling letters:
"Whene'er these humble lines you see,
I pray that you'll remember me."
and one from Miss Tobiesen, an old lady at the infirmary, who had been engaged seven times, and therefore judged it appropriate to quote:
"'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all."
Amanda then insisted that her father should contribute something, but Bramsen declared in the first place that the album was much too fine a thing for his clumsy fist, and furthermore, that he couldn't hit on anything to write. Amanda, however, gave him no peace till he consented, and at last, after much effort, the worthy man achieved the following gem:
"I, Amanda's only father,
Love her very much but rather
Fear she causes lots of bother
To her wise and loving mother."
This elegant composition was unfortunately not appreciated by Amanda, who, to tell the truth, was highly displeased. Fancy writing such a thing in her book—why, the whole class would laugh at her. Bramsen was obliged to scratch it out, but in so doing, scratched a hole in the paper, leaving no alternative but to take out the page altogether, much to Amanda's disgust.
Bramsen's highest ambition in life was to be master of a steamboat; not one of the big vessels that go as far as China, say, or Copenhagen—that, he realised, was out of the question, in view of his large contempt for examinations, mate's certificates and book-learning generally. The goal of his desire, the aim of all his dearest dreams, was a tugboat, a smart little devil of a craft with a proper wheel-house amidships and booms and hawsers aft.