Then I met one of Herr Mack's assistants from the store. I shook hands with him, and said:
“Tell me, do you never play whist now at Sirilund?”
“Yes, often,” he answered.
Pause.
“I have not been there lately,” I said.
I rowed out to my fishing grounds. The weather was mild, but oppressive. The gnats gathered in swarms, and I had to smoke all the time to keep them off. The haddock were biting; I fished with two hooks and made a good haul. On the way back I shot a brace of guillemots.
When I came in to the quay the blacksmith was there at work. A thought occurred to me; I asked him:
“Going up my way?”
“No,” said he, “Herr Mack's given me a bit of work to do here that'll keep me till midnight.”
I nodded, and thought to myself that it was well.