The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun

Russian denials of the rumours in English newspapers, it seemed as if America already had scented the danger, for American wheat was rising daily. From eighty-seven and eighty-eight it had risen until it now fluctuated between one hundred and ten and one hundred and fifteen. Nobody could predict to what heights it would climb.

      Tidemand's business with Ole was a proposition that the two friends and colleagues join in a speculation in American rye while there still was time. They were to join forces and import a mass of rye that should materially assist in keeping the country fed during the coming year. But it was a matter of urgency; rye, too, was soaring; in Russia it was almost unpurchasable.

      Ole left his desk and began to walk up and down. His mind was working; he had intended to offer Tidemand some refreshment, but forgot it entirely. He was greatly tempted, but he was up to his neck in other pressing engagements—that Brazilian affair had almost paralysed him for the moment, and he did not expect to be able to take his profits until early summer.

      "There ought to be money in it," said Tidemand.

      No doubt; that was not why Ole hesitated. But he simply was not able to do it. He explained his circumstances and added that he was afraid to tackle anything more at present. The speculation appealed to him, notwithstanding his inability to participate; his eyes gleamed, and he inquired eagerly into all the details. He took a piece of paper, made estimates, and studied the telegram afresh with a thoughtful air. Finally he declared that he could do nothing.

      "Of course I can operate alone," said Tidemand. "I will do it on a smaller scale, that is all. But I should have liked you to be in on this; I would have felt safer. I realise that you cannot go further. However, I'll telegraph myself; have you got a blank?"

      Tidemand wrote out his telegram and handed it to Ole.

      "I guess that is clear enough?"

      Ole stepped back a pace.

      "So much?" he exclaimed. "This is a big order, Andreas."

      "It is big. But I hope the results will justify it," answered Tidemand quietly. And unable to control a feeling that overwhelmed him at the moment, he looked toward the wall and whispered as if to himself: "I don't care how it turns out or about anything any more."

      Ole looked at him and asked:

      "Any news?"

      "No—"

      "Well, we'll see how it turns out."

      Tidemand put the telegram in his pocket.

      "I should have liked us both to be in this enterprise, Ole. I must confess that I am in deep elsewhere, too, but—I have my ice to realise on. When the warm weather comes I'll make money on that, don't you think?"

      "Decidedly! As good as ready money, ice is."

      "So I am not altogether on my knees. And may the Lord keep that sad fate from me, both for my own sake and for the sake of mine!"

      "But could you not as a matter of safety—Wait a moment. Pardon me for not offering you a cigar; I know how you like to smoke while talking; I forgot. Sit down a moment; I'll be back directly."

      Tidemand knew that Ole was on his way to the cellar for the usual bottle of wine, and tried to call him back, but Ole did not hear and returned in a moment with the old, fuzzy bottle. They sat on the sofa as usual and drank to each other.

      "I simply wanted to ask," continued Ole, "are you sure you have considered everything in connection with this American affair? I do not flatter myself that I can teach you anything, you know, but—"

      "Yes, I fancy I have calculated all contingencies," answered Tidemand. "You notice I am using the term 'Delivery within three days.' Success depends on quick action. I haven't even forgotten to consider the effect of a possible presidential change in America."

      "But wouldn't it be safer to place your limit a little closer? Perhaps you ought not to buy over twelve."

      "No; that would not be well. For you understand that if Russia closes, then fifteen, or even twenty, is not too much. On the other hand, if she does not close, then a hundred, yes, ninety, is far too much. In that case I am done for."

      They both reflected.

      "I believe this enterprise is going to be lucky," said Tidemand suddenly. "Really, I feel it. You know what it means when we traders have a premonition of this kind."

      "How are things otherwise?" asked Ole.

      "Well," Tidemand answered hurriedly, "it does not look so bad just now, not at all. Things are very much as usual at home."

      "No change, then?"

      "Well, no—I must get back now."

      Tidemand got up. Ole followed him to the door and said:

      "It wasn't you who didn't care how matters turn out, was it? Well, I am glad you came, anyway."

      The awkward fellow! This was Ole Henriksen's way of stiffening a comrade's backbone.

      But Tidemand did not go at once; he stood there with his hand on the door-knob and shifted his eyes nervously from place to place.

      "It can hardly be thought strange if I get a little downhearted once in a while," he said. "Things do not look very bright for me; I do my best to fix everything up, but I do not make much headway, not very much, no. Well, we'll have to wait and see how matters shape themselves. I think it is getting a little better, thank God."

      "Does your wife keep at home more now? It seems to me that—"

      "Hanka has been a good mother to the children lately. I have been very happy because of that; it has brought us closer together, as it were. She is busy fitting the children out for the country. It is wonderful the things she gets together; I have never seen anything like it—blue and white and red dresses! They are lying home; I look at them whenever I am home. Perhaps I shouldn't place too much faith in it. She does not consider herself married yet, she continues to call herself Lange. That may be only a whim. She calls herself Tidemand, too; she does not forget that. You yourself heard last night in Tivoli how she asked me for a hundred. I am glad she does that; I don't mind, and shouldn't have mentioned it if you hadn't heard it yourself. But it happened to be the third hundred crowns she had got from me in two days. Don't misunderstand me! But why does she ask me for money before people? Isn't that as if she wanted to give out the impression that that is the only way to take me, otherwise she wouldn't get any? She uses a good deal of money; I hardly think she uses it for herself; I am sure she doesn't, for Hanka was never extravagant. She must be giving it away; it is her affair if she helps somebody. She gets quite a lot of money from me in a week's time; sometimes she gets it when she goes out, and she has nothing left when she returns, although she has bought nothing. Well, that does not matter. As long as I have anything it belongs to her as well as to me; that is only right and natural. I asked her jokingly once if she wanted to ruin me— make a beggar out of me. It was only a joke, and I laughed heartily myself as I said it. But I shouldn't have said it; she offered to leave the house whenever I wanted her to—in short, divorce. She has told me that often enough, but this time simply because of a joke. I said that I was sorry, and I asked her pardon; I had never for a moment thought of such a thing as that she might ruin me. 'Dear Andreas,' she asked me, 'can we never get free from each other?' I do not know what I answered; I guess there was not much sense to it, for she asked immediately for my key, as she had lost her own. I gave it to her, and then she smiled. 'Smile again,' I said, and she did it for my sake, and said smilingly that I was a big baby. Yesterday morning I didn't see her before I got home from the office. She was still working with the children's summer outfit and showed me everything. She took out her handkerchief, and as she pulled it out from her dress a tie fell out, a gentleman's red tie. I made out that I did not see it; but I knew very well that the tie did not belong to me. I knew it only too well. That is—understand me correctly—I did not see it well enough to be sure whom it might belong to. It might even have been one of my own ties, some old rag I have ceased to use. It is a peculiarity of mine never to remember my own ties; I notice them so little, I imagine—So things