Bramsen livened up after a while, and the two friends were soon chatting away in their usual cheery fashion.
"What would you say to me marrying again, Bramsen?"
Bramsen sat without moving for a while, then took out his clasp-knife and began whittling at a splinter of wood.
"Well, what do you say?
"I'd say it's a risky thing to do."
"It generally is, I suppose, but it's always turned out all right up to now."
"You've had a deal of truck with the womenfolk in your time, Knut. Got a way of managing them somehow. Seems to me you start off with being sort of friendly with them in a general way, and then they get to running after you and want to marry you straight away. Ay, you've a sort of way of your own with the women for sure. Me being a simple sort of an individual, it's the other way round—why, I had to ask Andrine three times before she'd have me. Would you believe it, she was as near as could be to taking John Isaksen, that's built like a telegraph post, and never a tooth in his mouth, so he was that afraid of crusts they called him Crusty John."
"Well, women are queer cattle, you're right in that."
"Ay, that they are. Like a bit of clockwork inside, all odd bits of wheels and screws and things, little and big, some turning this way and some that. And the mainspring, as you might say, that's love, and that's why there's some goes too fast, by reason of the mainspring being stronger than it should, and others taking it easy like, and going slow...."
"And some that stop altogether."