“And what’s his salary? As much as fifty thousand crowns?”
“His pay is two hundred thousand francs a year,” said Peer, not without some fear that his companion might faint. “Yes, he’s an able fellow, is Ferdinand.”
It took Langberg some time to get his breath again. At last he asked, with a sidelong glance:
“And you and Klaus Brock—I suppose you’ve put your millions in his company?”
Peer smiled as he sat looking out over the garden. Lifting his glass, “Your good health,” he said, for all answer.
“Have you been in America, too?” went on the other. “No, I suppose not!”
“America? Yes, a few years back, when I was with Brown Bros., they sent me over one time to buy plant. Nothing so surprising in that, is there?”
“No, no, of course not. I was only thinking—you went about there, I daresay, and saw all the wonderful things—the miracles of science they’re always producing.”
“My dear fellow, if you only knew how deadly sick I am of miracles of science! What I’m longing for is a country watermill that takes twenty-four hours to grind a sack of corn.”
“What? What do you say?” Langberg bounced in his chair. “Ha-ha-ha! You’re the same old man, I can see.”