The Road Leads On | Page 7

buying and selling of fish, Lofoten cod or
herring trapped by his seiners, the salting down, the packing, the
shipping--these were the interests upon which Theodore's mind had fed

and from which he had derived his fortune. But these were not the
undertakings of which Gordon Tidemand had learned in school or off
on his travels abroad; his fund of knowledge consisted of accountancy,
foreign commerce and international monetary exchange, subjects which
were quite irrelevant to the running of his type of business. What good
did it do him to set up a refined and complicated system of accounting
for his store which could never under any set of circumstances yield
him the profits attendant upon a single lucky stroke of his seiners? He
insisted upon maintaining a commercial traveler to carry his line
through Nordland, though little business seemed to follow in the
fellow's wake. One day he summoned this salesman to his private
office and pointed to a chair. Big business executive that he was, he
was polite but terse in his remarks.
"You haven't been doing much business," he began.
"No, that's the way it looks."
"That last line of ours ought to be going better. Silk nightgowns."
"Yes," said the man, "but folks simply shake their heads when I show
them."
"It's a line from one of the finest houses."
"Folks up here still seem to prefer to sleep in flannel. They're
old-fashioned, I guess."
"Well, how about those flannel skirts? The latest mode, you know."
"Yes," answered the man with a shake of the head. "But up here, the
women would rather have silk."
"Hm."
"Wool underneath and silk outside," said the man with a laugh.
The big business executive frowned at this sign of amusement. "At any
rate, you aren't doing enough business. Something must be the matter.

Are you drawing enough for traveling expenses?"
"Yes, I have the same as the rest of us out on the road."
"But," his chief said suddenly, "you yourself might possibly equip
yourself a little better. Do you call on your trade in clothes like these
you are wearing?"
"They are practically brand-new. My last suit possibly got to looking a
bit shabby, but this one--"
"Where did you buy it?"
"In Tromsø. At the finest clothing store in Tromsø."
"Perhaps you ought to have polished brass corners on your sample
cases," said the chief.
The man stared. "You don't mean it?" he said, aghast.
"I don't know, it was just a thought. But it isn't simply a question of
sample cases and clothes, it's a question of general get-up. I'm not sure
you grasp my point. Have you ever given a thought to the matter of
style and manner? You are the representative of a big house and you
should act and appear accordingly. That shirt and that necktie--pardon
me for mentioning them!" The chief nodded to indicate that his
reference had been sufficient.
But possibly there was some serious flaw in the man's sense of fashion
and progress, possibly he was short on the power discrimination. For
instance, he did not even realize that at this point the interview had
been concluded. He said: "You see, when we're on the road, we often
have to carry our bags ourselves. Sometimes we miss ship connections
and have to travel by motorboat. We can't always appear spic and span,
sometimes we look pretty mussy."
The chief remained silent.
"And sometimes we aren't even as clean as we might be when we arrive

in certain places."
The chief remarked in definite conclusion: "All right, but just think
over my words. We will really have to inject a little--"
Nevertheless, Gordon Tidemand was not all show and vanity; he had
learned, of course, that clothes and a neat appearance are matters of
keen significance, but he did not wander off and get lost in the maze of
this doctrine. For instance, he was quick to heed his mother's advice
and immediately got busy laying plans to send out a seining expedition.
This mother of his was in many ways worth her weight in gold. She
might easily have passed for his sister, so young and good-looking she
still was, so joyous, so warmblooded, so clever. She was said to have
taken the bit in her teeth during the early years of her marriage, for she
had soon lost all interest in her husband, but that had been a good while
ago and was already quite forgotten. She was known as
Gammelmoderen, [Footnote: An affectionate term applied to any older
woman who is sweet and helpful by nature. Though literally it means
"old mother," the adjective "gammel" has the same affectionate
connotation as "old" in "old son," "old man," etc.-- Translator.] but that
was a stupid nickname, for it had simply been her