“I’m not bankrupt, either,” said old Uthoug, fixing his red eyes on her face.
“Perhaps not. But what about him?”
“Neither is he. He’ll be a rich man before very long.”
“He!—rich! Did you say rich?”
“Before a year’s out,” answered the old man calmly. “But you’ll have to help.”
“I!” Aunt Marit shifted her chair backwards, gaping. “I, did you say? Ha-ha-ha! Just tell me, how many hundreds of thousands did he lose over that ditch or drain or whatever it was?”
“He was six months behind time in finishing it, I know. But the Company agreed to halve the forfeit for delay when they’d seen what a masterpiece the work was.”
“Ah, yes—and what about the contractors, whom he couldn’t pay, I hear?”
“He’s paid them all in full now. The Bank arranged things.”
“I see. After you and he had mortaged every stick and rag you had in the world. Yes, indeed—you deserve a good whipping, the pair of you!”