Uthoug stroked his beard. “From a financial point of view the thing wasn’t a success for him, I’ll admit. But I can show you here what the engineering people say about it in the technical papers. Here’s an article with pictures of him and of the barrage.”
“Well! he’d better keep his family on pictures in the papers then,” said the widow, paying no attention to the paper he offered.
“He’ll soon be on top again,” said her brother, putting the papers back in his pocket. He sat there in front of her quite unruffled. He would let people see that he was not the man to be crushed by a reverse; that there were other things he valued more than money.
“Soon be on top?” repeated Aunt Marit. “Has he got round you again with some nonsense?”
“He’s invented a new mowing machine. It’s nearly finished. And the experts say it will be worth a million.”
“Ho! and you want to come over me with a tale like that?” The widow shifted her chair a little farther back.
“You must help us to carry on through this year—both of us. If you will stand security for thirty thousand, the bank . . .”
Aunt Marit of Bruseth slapped her knees emphatically. “I’ll do nothing of the sort!”
“For twenty thousand, then?”
“Not for twenty pence!”