Sören thought a little—but no!—no!
“For it’s possible that the whole thing may depend upon you,” said Herlufsen.
The man looked askance at his master; but Herlufsen was perfectly serious, and when he went away, told him to remember that the whole matter now depended upon him.
When Sören Kvikne came back to the men’s room, he stood in the middle of the floor and asked in a loud voice whether any of the others had ever been in the farm parlour and drunk a dram and smoked a long pipe with the master.
At this there was a roar of laughter, whereupon Sören grew angry, and let them know that the whole matter between Wangen and Norby now depended upon him.
“Upon you?” exclaimed several voices; and some, who were reclining on the benches, sat up and looked curiously at him.
“Yes, upon me,” said Sören, nodding his head. But there was nothing more to be got out of him; he was not a man to let his tongue run away with him.
From that day he had no peace either day or night. Whenever he met his master, he was urged on with: “Haven’t you considered that matter yet?” It was quite true he had been in Haarstad’s service five years, and it was quite true that Haarstad and he had often talked together alone; but—but—. He scratched his ear a great many times a day. He talked to his wife about the matter, and his wife too said he must think a little. And Sören did think a little. He thought both day and night, since the whole matter now depended upon him.
It couldn’t be that time Haarstad and he—no, no, it wasn’t then. No, if it was any time, then—then it must have been when they were painting the cariole together. Haarstad was painting the shafts, and he was doing the wheels and the body. They were standing in the sun behind the barn. And this scene, in which they painted the cariole, fastened itself little by little in Sören’s mind, until he gradually became certain that if there positively was a time when Haarstad confided the matter to him, it must have been then; and when he came to think of it, it certainly was on that occasion.