“Yes, but he’s never any bread.”
“He drinks a great deal, I’m sorry to say,” put in the priest. “I’ve written him a letter, but for all that....”
Mack was silent a moment. “I’ll set up a bakery here, then,” he said. “Seeing there’s a branch of the store already.”
Mack was almighty; he could do whatever he willed. But a word from him, and lo, a bakery on the spot!
“Only think of it!” cried Fruen, and looked at him with wondering eyes.
“You shall have your bread all right, Frue. I’ll telegraph at once for the men to come down. It’ll take a little time, perhaps—a few weeks, no more.”
But the priest said nothing. What if his housekeeper and all the maids baked the bread that was needed? Bread would be dearer now.
“I have to thank you for kindly allowing me credit at the store,” said the priest.
“Yes,” put in his wife, and was thoughtful once more.