There came a card from Peer, with a brief message: “Off to inspect the ground.” A fortnight later he came home, loaded with maps and plans. “Of course I’m late for the fair, as usual,” he said. “But wait a bit.”
He locked himself into his room. At last Merle knew what it was like to have him at work. She could hear him in the mornings, walking up and down and whistling. Then silence—he would be standing over his table, busy with notes and figures. Then steps again. Now he was singing—and this was a novelty to himself. It was as if he carried in him a store of happiness, a treasure laid by of love, and the beauty of nature, and happy hours, and now it found its way out in song. Why should he not sing over the plans for a great barrage? Mathematics are dry work enough, but at times they can be as living visions, soaring up into the light. Peer sang louder. Then silence again. Merle never knew now when he stopped work and came to bed. She would fall asleep to the sound of his singing in his own room, and when she woke he would already be tramping up and down again in there; and to her his steps seemed like the imperious tread of a great commander. He was alight with new visions, new themes, and his voice had a lordly ring. Merle looked at him through half-closed eyes with a lingering glance. Once more he was new to her: she had never seen him like this.
At last the work was finished, and he sent in his tender. And now he was more restless than ever. For a week he waited for an answer, tramping in and out of the place, going off for rides on Bijou, and coming back with his horse dripping with sweat. An impatient man cannot possibly ride at any pace but a gallop. The days passed; Peer was sleepless, and ate nothing. More days passed. At last he came bursting into the nursery one morning: “Trunk call, Merle; summons to a meeting of the Company Directors. Quick’s the word. Come and help me pack—sharp.” And in no time he was off again to the city.
Now it was Merle’s turn to walk up and down in suspense. It mattered little to her in itself whether he got the work or not, but she was keenly anxious that he should win.
A couple of days later a telegram came: “Hurrah, wife!” And Merle danced round the room, waving the telegram above her head.
The next day he was back home again and tramping up and down the room. “What do you think your father will say to it, Merle—ha!”
“Father? Say to what?”
“When I ask him to be my surety for a couple of hundred thousand crowns?”
“Is father to be in it, too?” Merle looked at him open-eyed.
“Oh, if he doesn’t want to, we’ll let him off. But at any rate I’ll ask him first. Goodbye.” And Peer drove off into town.