“Wait a minute—I'll go with you,” he said, and blew out the lamps. “Yes, yes, I feel like a little walk. It's not so late.”
We went out.
He pointed up the road towards the blacksmith's and said:
“This way—it's the shortest.”
“No,” I said. “Round by the quay is the shortest way.”
We argued the point a little, and did not agree. I was convinced that I was right, and could not understand why he insisted. At last he suggested that we should each go his own way; the one who got there first could wait at the hut.
We set off, and he was soon lost to sight in the wood.
I walked at my usual pace, and reckoned to be there a good five minutes ahead. But when I got to the hut he was there already. He called out as I came up:
“What did I say? I always go this way—it is the shortest.”
I looked at him in surprise; he was not heated, and did not appear to have been running. He did not stay now, but said good-night in a friendly way, and went back the way he had come.