Howdy, Arni, you poor fish! said Jon, fixing his steely gray eyes on
Arni.
How are you, you old snake! answered Arni, smiling contemptuously.
What monstrous eyes Jon had when he looked at a person!
Has something special happened? You're somehow so puffed up today, said Jon with a sarcastic smile.
Darn him! muttered Arni. Was he going to act just like Groa? In that case, Arni had at least a trump card in reserve.
Did you say something? inquired Jon, sticking a quid of tobacco into his mouth. Or wasn't it meant for my ears? Oh, well, I don't care for your mutterings, you poor wretch. But now, go ask your wife to give me a little drink of sour whey.
Arni turned round slowly and lazily. Wasn't the old fellow going to notice the skin? It wasn't so small that it couldn't be seen. There it hung on the wall, right in the sunlight, combed and beautifully glossy.
That's quite a nice fox skin. Whose is it? asked Jon, walking over to the wall.
Arni turned round. He could feel his heart beating fast.
Mine, he said, with what calm he could muster.
What is the idea of you buying a fox skin, you poor beggar?