“Quite a treat to see things on the Norwegian scale again,” Ferdinand Holm couldn’t resist saying at last.
“Yes, isn’t it charming!” cried Peer, putting on an air of ingenuous delight. “This is just the size a foundry should be, if its owner is to have a good time and possess his soul in peace.”
Ferdinand Holm and Brock exchanged glances. But next moment Peer led them through into a side-room, with tools and machinery evidently having no connection with the rest.
“Now look out,” said Klaus. “This is the holy of holies, you’ll see. He’s hard at it working out some new devilry here, or I’m a Dutchman.”
Peer drew aside a couple of tarpaulins, and showed them a mowing machine of the ordinary type, and beside it another, the model of a new type he had himself devised.
“It’s not quite finished yet,” he said. “But I’ve solved the main problem. The old single knife-blade principle was clumsy; dragged, you know. But with two blades—a pair of shears, so to speak—it’ll work much quicker.” And he gave them a little lecture, showing how much simpler his mechanism was, and how much lighter the machine would be.
“And there you are,” said Klaus. “It’s Columbus’s egg over again.”
“The patent ought to be worth a million,” said Ferdinand Holm, slowly, looking out of the window.
“Of course the main thing is, to make the work easier and cheaper for the farmers,” said Peer, with a rather sly glance at Ferdinand.
Dinner that evening was a festive meal. When the liqueur brandy went round, Klaus greeted it with enthusiasm. “Why, here’s an old friend, as I live! Real Lysholmer!—well, well; and so you’re still in the land of the living? You remember the days when we were boys together?” He lifted the little glass and watched the light play in the pale spirit. And the three old friends drank together, singing “The first full glass,” and then “The second little nip,” with the proper ceremonial observances, just as they had done in the old days, at their student wine-parties.