Shallow Soil | Page 7

said Tidemand. "I have never yet made a stroke like that last one of yours!"
It was true that Ole had turned a trick lately. But he insisted that there really was nothing in it that entitled him to any credit; it was just a bit of luck. And if there was any credit to bestow, then it belonged to the firm, not to him. The operations in London had succeeded because of the cleverness of his agent.
The affair was as follows:
An English freight-steamer, the Concordia, had left Rio with half a cargo of coffee; she touched at Bathurst for a deck-load of hides, ran into the December gales on the north coast of Normandy, and sprung a leak; then she was towed into Plymouth. The cargo was water-soaked; half of it was coffee.
This cargo of damaged coffee was washed out and brought to London; it was put on the market, but could not be sold; the combination of sea-water and hides had spoiled it. The owner tried all sorts of doctorings: he used colouring matter--indigo, kurkuma, chrome, copper vitriol--he had it rolled in hogsheads with leaden bullets. Nothing availed; he had to sell it at auction. Henriksen's agent bid it in for a song.
Ole went to London; he made tests with this coffee, washed out the colouring matter, flushed it thoroughly, and dried it again. Finally he had the entire cargo roasted and packed in hermetically sealed zinc boxes. These boxes were brought to Norway after a month of storing; they were unloaded, taken to the warehouse, opened, and sold. The coffee was as good as ever. The firm made a barrel of money out of this enterprise.
Tidemand said:
"I only learned the particulars a couple of days ago; I must confess that I was proud of you!"
"My part of the business was simply the idea of roasting the coffee-- making it sweat out the damage, so to speak. But otherwise, really--"
"I suppose you were a little anxious until you knew the result?"
"Yes; I must admit I was a little anxious."
"But what did your father say?"
"Oh, he did not know anything until it was all over. I was afraid to tell him; he might have disinherited me, cast me off, you know. Ha, ha!"
Tidemand looked at him.
"Hm. This is all very well, Ole. But if you want to give your father, the firm, half the credit, then you should not at the same time tell me that your father knew nothing until it was all over. I have you there!"
A clerk entered with another account on a slate; he bowed, placed the slate on the desk, and retired. The telephone rang.
"One moment, Andreas; it is probably only an order. Hello!"
Ole took down the order, rang for a clerk, and gave it to him..
"I am detaining you," said Tidemand. "Let me take one of the slates; there is one for each now!"
"Not much!" said Ole; "do you think I will let you work when you come to see me?"
But Tidemand was already busy. He was thoroughly familiar with these strange marks and figures in the many columns, and made out the account on a sheet of paper. They stood at the desk opposite each other and worked, with an occasional bantering remark.
"Don't let us forget the glasses altogether!"
"No; you are right!"
"This is the most enjoyable day I have had in a long time," said Ole.
"Do you think so? I was just going to say the same. I have just left the Grand--By the way, I have an invitation for you; we are both going to the farewell celebration for Ojen--quite a number will be there."
"Is that so? Where is it going to be?"
"In Milde's studio. You are going, I hope?"
"Yes; I will be there."
They went back to their accounts.
"Lord! do you remember the old times when we sat on the school bench together?" said Tidemand. "None of us sported a beard then. It seems as if it were only a couple of months ago, I remember it so distinctly."
Ole put down his pen. The accounts were finished.
"I should like to speak to you about something--you mustn't be offended, Andreas--No; take another glass, old fellow, do! I'll get another bottle; this wine is really not fit for company."
And he hurried out; he looked quite confused.
"What is the matter with him?" thought Tidemand.
Ole returned with another bottle, downy as velvet, with trailing cobwebs; he pulled the cork.
"I don't know how you'll like this," he said, and sniffed the glass. "Try it, anyhow; it is really--I am sure you'll like it; I have forgotten the vintage, but it is ancient."
Tidemand sniffed, sipped, put down his glass, and looked at Ole.
"It isn't half bad, is it?"
"No," said Tidemand, "it is not. You should not have done this, Ole."
"Ho! don't be silly--a bottle of wine!"
Pause.
"I thought you