Stellan was again cool, tense, fully awake. He was one of those people who do not know the meaning of melancholy or remorse. Their egotism is so rounded and complete that such things do not touch them. Neither can they admit defeat. That would be the end of their world. Adversity to them only points forward to new opportunities to be seized.
Levy wants Kolsnäs, thought Stellan. Once again he sat there, tense, cool and collected with the blue vein throbbing in his forehead just as if the table and the cards were again before him. Levy wants Kolsnäs, that’s as clear as daylight.
Each time he thought of Levy he felt as if he had been pricked by a spur. He hated Levy, and during these moments he was learning a great deal from him. What was it Levy had said? “How can you find anything in this miserable gambling?” Yes, that’s what he said. Things which had seemed impossible before seemed all at once self-evident, final. Yes, of course, that’s it, he thought. I’ll trick Levy and save myself.
He suddenly looked Manne steadily in the eyes:
“Do you know what it means to write cheques like that?” he asked. His tone was so sharp that poor Manne was startled.
“No...!”
Stellan blurted out the worst:
“Prison, old man, if you don’t find the five thousand by the time the banks open. Can you do it?”
“No, it is impossible.”
“I’ll try to get you the money, but on one condition—that you won’t let Levy have Kolsnäs.”