“What'd he want to talk to you about?” asked one.
Grindhusen swelled, and was not to be drawn at once. “Eh, I'm not such a fool, but I know how to talk with a man. And it's not my way to be contrary neither. 'You know a thing or two, Grindhusen,' says the Inspector, 'and there's two Kroner for you,' says he. Ay, that's what he said. And if you don't believe me, why, here's the money, and you can see. There!”
“But what was it all about?” asked several voices at once.
“He'd better not say, if you ask me,” I said.
It struck me that the engineer must have been miserable and desperate when he sent me to fetch Grindhusen. He was so little used to trouble that the moment anything went wrong he felt the need of some one to confide in. And now when he was going about day after day, thoroughly disheartened and full of pity for himself, as if he wanted to know how miserable he was at being checked in his play. This sportsman, with his figure moulded in the wrong place, was a travesty of youth, a Spartan in tears. What sort of upbringing could his have been?
Ah, well, if he had been an old man I had found reason and excuse for him enough; if the truth were known, it was perhaps but hatred of his youth that moved me now. Who can say? But I know I looked upon him as a travesty, a caricature.
Grindhusen stared at me when I had spoken my few words; the others, too, looked wonderingly.
“I'll not say, but it might be better not,” said Grindhusen submissively.
But the men were not to be put off.
“And why shouldn't he tell? We're not going to let it go farther.”