"Ay, you may well say that. Downhill's better than up, as the man said when he fell over the cliff. But," and he sighed, "it never rains but it pours. Amande's gone and got laid up too."
"Amande? Poor child! What's wrong with her?"
"Doctor says she's got tulips or something in her ears."
"Polypi, I suppose you mean."
"Well, something of that sort, anyway."
"Sorry to hear that, Bramsen. And I'd just come down to tell you how splendid I was feeling myself; haven't been so happy for years. What do you think! William's started work at the office, and Marie's given up the singing business. Isn't that a surprise?"
"Ay, that it is. Never have thought it—as the old maid said when a young man kissed her on the stairs. I'm glad to hear it, though—they've been pretty average troublesome up to now."
"I should say so. Well, let's hope Andrine will come to her senses as well, after a bit."
"She must have got it pretty badly, I tell you, Knut. Why, only this morning if she didn't hand me over the savings-bank book, said she'd given up all thoughts of worldly mammon for good." And Bramsen drew out the book from his pocket.
"What do you say to that, £130, 16s. 2d. She must have been a wonder to put by all that."