"Dollars?"
"No, kroner. And the 50,000 besides."
"It is not enough."
"Along with the rest?"
"The 'rest' is hardly yielding anything at present. That you know."
Mary began to feel ill. He knew it by her voice when she said: "We have the timber to fall back upon."
"Which cannot be felled for three years; possibly not for four, or even five? That depends entirely on its growth."
Mary knew that he was right. Why had she mentioned it? "But—ten to twelve thousand kroner a year...?"
"Is not enough in our position."
Another intermezzo. There was no pavement here. They had come to a large, open space, thick with mud. Both had forgotten the dog. A fat, dirty ship-dog, also of the poodle tribe, had come on shore with some sailors, who were sauntering along in the same direction as Mary and Jörgen. With this welcome playfellow Jörgen's dog had joined company. Jörgen had the greatest trouble in inducing him to come back—dirty as he already was. As soon as Mary called too, he came boldly and joyfully. But a stroke with the cane awaited him, and called forth a howl.