Hans spread his two powerful hands. "These are what I had when I started. These are what I have now."
"You need money, too. Money for nets, money for ..."
The door opened and Pieter came in for breakfast. Hanging his light jacket on a wooden peg in the hallway, he took his seat at the table. "Why does Hans need so much money?" he asked.
"He says he's going fishing again." Marta sniffed. "I've been telling him that he should get a farm, and we can put him up until he gets one, and ..."
"Are you really going fishing?" Pieter broke in.
"That I am. I'm a fisherman. Now look, Pieter, you get up at dawn to milk your cows. No? To be sure, you get all the milk you can drink; but if you're lucky, Tradin' Jack Hammersly gives you maybe half of what your butter's worth. All winter long and all summer long you work for those cows. A fisherman, now, he works for four months, just four. . . ."
Pieter said, "It sounds good!"
"Pieter!" Marta broke in sharply. "You are not going fishing!"
Pieter wriggled uncomfortably. "Well," he said, "I can at least listen to what the man says, can't I?"
"One haul of the nets," Hans continued, "and maybe one thousand, maybe two thousand pounds of whitefish. Never less than five hundred. For that you get six cents a pound in the Chicago market. You don't earn that on your farm, and besides, fishing is a lot more fun. A smart Dutchman don't have to tend cows."