“Look here, Morten!” he cried, turning to the boys. “Just look at these figures!”
Morten looked. “What is it, father?”
“What is it? Our earnings during the last week! You can see they are big figures!”
“No, father; what are they?” Morten twined his slender hand in his father’s beard.
The “Great Power’s” eyes grew mild under this caress.
“It’s a proposed alteration—they want to keep the channel in the old place, and that is wrong; when the wind blows in from the sea, one can’t get into the harbor. The channel must run out there, and the outer breakwater must curve like this”—and he pointed to his sketches. “Every fisherman and sailor will confirm what I say—but the big engineer gentlemen are so clever!”
“But are you going—again—to send in a tender?” Morten looked at his father, horrified. The man nodded.
“But you aren’t good enough for them—you know you aren’t! They just laugh at you!”
“This time I shall be the one to laugh,” retorted Jörgensen, his brow clouding at the thought of all the contempt he had had to endure.
“Of course they laugh at him,” said the old woman from the chimney- corner, turning her hawk-like head toward them; “but one must play at something. Peter must always play the great man!”