“Yes—and it puts me out of the game, Jantzen.”
“How? I don’t understand....”
“No, I’m afraid you’d hardly understand....”
“Well, sir, I confess as much. But there must surely be something behind this—I don’t see....”
“Only that victory has put me out of action, that is all. Ever since I started this thing, it has only been the difficulty of carrying it through that kept me to it. Now that is disposed of, I collapse. I can’t live in that fruitful sort of country where you’ve only to plough and change your crops now and again—I can’t work at a thing that runs by itself. It’s not only that it doesn’t interest me; I haven’t the power of self-deception it requires. I’m perfectly aware of that. I feel at the moment like a bow that has been strung and drawn to its limit, and shot its bolt where it should. I’ve no use for repetition. And, take my word for it, if luck has favoured me up to now—in business, I mean—it would surely fail me after this. Once before in my life I have suffered the defeat of victory. And then, I chanced on you—it was Fate that led me to a new task; and with it, at the end, a new victory—a new defeat. True, the result has been somewhat different this time. But it comes to the same thing. I have done with the task—or it has done with me.”
Jantzen watched the speaker’s face intently; he remembered the pale features of a younger man, who had stood with tears in his eyes, on the bridge of his vessel, at the first sight of Iceland from the sea. It was a face he had come to love—so strong it could be at times, and at times so weak.
And a deep despondency, such as he had only known in lonely watches far at sea by night, filled his heart.
Ormarr was absolutely calm and unmoved to all appearances; he seemed to have no regrets. He emptied his glass and nodded to Jantzen.
“There’s no harm done, that I can see. What do you say to taking over the management yourself, Jantzen?”
“Impossible. I could never look after a business like that—I’m not built for it.”