“Take back my accusation?” The old man sat up, and passed his hand over the crown of his head, looking straight in front of him, and putting bits of his beard into his mouth. At length he said, with stony gaiety: “Oh no, Einar! It’s you who are talking nonsense. So I propose that you go back to town again, and set to work upon things that you understand better than you do this matter.” Saying which he rose, and took a step towards the table. Einar had noticed an alteration in his father’s voice, which indicated storm.
“Well?” said the old man, turning round. “You stand there like a parson in the pulpit!”
“Once more, father, take back your accusation! Do, father!”
“You’re quite sure your father’s a scoundrel?”
“It’s only that you don’t remember, father!”
“Now seriously, Einar, what have you come home for?” His father looked actually curious, and Einar felt angry at not being taken seriously. So he said as forcibly as he could:
“I’ve come home, father, to prevent you doing something you will repent of.”
“Don’t you think, Einar,” his voice sounded a little pained, “that I’ve got enough with half the parish down upon me? There are numbers of them only trying to get me locked up. And now you come too! Aren’t you ashamed?”
Einar’s head sank. “Father—but—.” His knees began to give away under him; but unwittingly his father came to his aid?