"Why," says Brede, grasping at it himself, "to tell the truth, I think it will. I'm not regretting it, not a bit. I won't say I've made a fortune on the place here, but that's to come, maybe; and the young ones getting older and leaving the nest—ay, 'tis true the wife's got another on the way; but for all that…." And suddenly Brede tells his news straight out: "I've given up the telegraph business."
"What?" asks Isak.
"I've given up that telegraph."
"Given up the telegraph?"
"Ay, from new year to be. What was the good of it, anyway? And supposing I was out on business, or driving for the Lensmand or the doctor, then to have to look after the telegraph first of all—no, there's no sense nor meaning in it that way. Well enough for them that's time to spare. But running over hill and dale after a telegraph wire for next to nothing wages, 'tis no job that for Brede. And then, besides, I've had words with the people from the telegraph office about it—they've been making a fuss again."
The Lensmand keeps repeating the bids for the farm; they have got up to the few hundred Kroner the place is judged to be worth, and the bidding goes slowly, now, with but five or ten Kroner more each time.
"Why, surely—'tis Axel there's bidding," cries Brede suddenly, and hurries eagerly across. "What, you going to take over my place too? Haven't you enough to look after?"
"I'm bidding for another man," says Axel evasively.
"Well, well, 'tis no harm to me, 'twasn't that I meant."
The Lensmand raises his hammer, a new bid is made, a whole hundred Kroner at once; no one bids higher, the Lensmand repeats the figure again and again, waits for a moment with his hammer raised, and then strikes.