"Started as early as that, did you? No, thanks all the same. I think I'll wait till the little Donna inside there's moved upstairs for good, then perhaps we may get a look in at the office again some day."
And Vindt strode out of the shop. Crossing the square, he met Hermansen, who had just come from the repair shops, where the Spaniard was being overhauled. The only part of her hull that could be considered sound consisted of a few plates at the after end. Wherefore Vindt naturally offered his congratulations, "All's well that ends well, eh, what?"
The banker swallowed the pill without wincing, and merely observed:
"Yes, it's an unsatisfactory business, patching up old wrecks. Apropos, Vindt, how's the gout getting on? Going anywhere for a cure this summer?"
"Can't afford it, I'm afraid. Bills for repairing wrecks, you know, are apt to be a bit heavy when they come in."
Hermansen gave it up after that, but he was considerably annoyed when he returned to the bank, as Petersen, the cashier, could see from the way he flung down his gloves and hat—it was rarely the banker showed so much irritation.
Meantime, Holm was thinking over what Vindt had said. "Wait till the little Donna's moved upstairs for good...." Now what on earth did he mean by that? Vindt could not possibly have any idea that he, Knut Holm, was contemplating marriage. William and Betty, then? Nonsense—the idea was preposterous; it certainly could never have entered his head, far less Vindt's. Still, it was certainly queer, the way the boy stuck to the office and never stirred out....
In days past it had been impossible to keep him at the desk for an hour on end; now, he hung over the books as if he were nailed to the stool.
"Anyhow, we'll make an end of it some way or other. I'm not going to sit here and be made a fool of."
And Holm went into the inner office. By a rare chance, William had gone out, and he found Betty alone.