Tidemand was still optimistic; his ice business in England was very
profitable. He did not place much faith in the reports that extensive
rains throughout Russia had greatly improved the prospects for a normal
harvest. It had rained, of course, but the fact remained that Russia was
still closed; not a sack of grain could be smuggled out if one were to
offer for it its weight in gold. Tidemand stuck to his price; occasionally
he would sell small quantities throughout the country, but his enormous
stores were hardly affected by this; he needed a panic, a famine, before
he could unload. But there was no hurry; only wait until winter!
As usual, Tidemand was eagerly sought by business solicitors of every
description; subscription lists and all kinds of propositions were placed
before him; his name was in demand everywhere. Nothing could be started
without the support of the business element; and it was especially the
younger business men, the energetic and self-made men who conducted the
large enterprises, who commanded money and credit and knew and recognised
opportunities, whose interest had to be enlisted. There was the electric
street-car proposition, the new theatre, the proposed pulp-mills in
Vardal, the whale-oil factories in Henningsvaer--everything had to have
the business men's stamp of approval. Both Tidemand and Ole Henriksen
became share-owners in everything as a matter of course.
"My father should have known this!" Tidemand would often say when he gave
his signature. His father had a reputation for miserly thrift which had
survived him; he was one of the old-fashioned tradesmen, who went around
in his shirt-sleeves and apron, and weighed out soap and flour by the
pound. He had no time to dress decently; his shoes were still a byword;
the toes were sticking out, and when he walked it looked as if his toes
were searching for pennies on the flagstones. The son did not resemble the
father much; for him the old horizons had been broken, cracked wide, and
opened large views; his optimistic business courage was recognised.
Ole Henriksen had just dropped in on him in his office and was talking
about the projected tannery for which an ideal site had been found near
Torahus. This enterprise was bound to amount to something in the near
future; the great forests were being cut rapidly; the lumber was sold here
and abroad. But two and three inch cuttings and the tops were left and
went to waste. What a lack of foresight! Pine bark contained nearly twenty
per cent tannin; why not utilise it and make money out of it?
"We will see what can be done next spring."
Ole Henriksen looked a little overworked. He had not sufficient help; when
he went to England that autumn he would have to give his head assistant
power of attorney and leave everything to him. Since Aagot came Ole's work
had been only fun; but now she was a little indisposed and had kept
up-stairs for a couple of days. Ole missed her. She must have been
careless on this excursion day before yesterday and have caught a cold. He
had wanted to take her out in the little yacht, but this had now been
postponed until Sunday. He asked Tidemand to come along; there would be a
few more; they would sail out to some reef and have coffee.
"Are you sure Miss Aagot will be well by Sunday?" asked Tidemand. "These
boat-rides are dangerous so early in the year. What I was going to say
was: Won't you please ask Hanka yourself? I am not sure I can make her
come--In regard to this tannery proposition, I think I shall have to hold
the matter in abeyance for the present. It will also depend on the lumber
quotations to some extent."
Ole returned after he had looked up Hanka and invited her. He wondered a
little over Tidemand's remark about boat-rides being dangerous; Tidemand
had given the remark a subtle meaning, and Ole had looked at him
interrogatingly.
Ole found Aagot in her own room; she was reading. When he entered she
threw down her book and ran to him. She was well again, entirely well--
just feel the pulse, not a trace of fever! How she looked forward to
Sunday! Ole warned her again about being careful; she would have to dress
properly. Even Tidemand had spoken about these risky boat-rides so early
in the season.
"And you are going to be the hostess!" he chaffed her. "What a darling
little mistress! By the way, what are you reading?"
"Oh, that is only Irgens's poems," she answered.
"Don't say 'only' Irgens's poems," he chided her playfully. "By the way, I
ran across Coldevin a moment ago; he said he was looking for somebody. I
couldn't get him to come up--he simply wouldn't."
"Did you invite him to our excursion?" asked Aagot quickly. She seemed
very much disappointed because Ole had forgotten to ask him. He had to
promise her to try his best to find Coldevin before Sunday.
* * * * *
Tidemand rang Henriksen's bell late Saturday evening and asked for Ole. He
did not want to come in; it was only a small matter, he would keep Ole
only a minute.
When Ole came out he saw at once that something serious had happened. He
asked whether they should go down to the office or take a walk; Tidemand
did not care which. They went downstairs to the office.
Tidemand took out a telegram and said:
"I fancy my rye speculation isn't going to turn out very well. The prices
are normal at present; Russia has lifted the ban."
It was true that Russia had recalled her decree against rye exportations.
The favourable prospects had not proved disappointing, and this, in
connection with large amounts of grain stored in the elevators from
previous years, had made further restrictions superfluous. The famine
ghost had been laid; Russian and Finnish harbours were once more open.
Such was the purport of the telegraphic message.
Ole sat there silent. This was an awful blow! His brain was awhirl with
thoughts: could the telegram be a hoax, a piece of speculative trickery, a
bribed betrayal? He glanced at the signature; no, it was out of the
question to suspect this reliable agent. But had anything like that ever
happened before? A world-power had fooled itself and taken
self-destructive measures for no apparent reason! It was even worse than
in fifty-nine when a similar edict had been lifted and had caused the
world-markets wreck and ruin. But there had been war then.
The clock on the wall ticked and ticked in the unbroken silence.