Now quite a number of modern factories had spread upwards
along the river, and the place was a town with some four thousand
inhabitants, with a church of its own, a monster of a school building,
and numbers of yellow workmen's dwellings scattered about at random in
every direction. Otherwise Ringeby was much like any other little town.
There were two lawyers, who fought for scraps of legal business, and the
editors of two local papers, who were constantly at loggerheads before
the Conciliation Board. There was a temperance lodge and Workers' Union
and a chapel and a picture palace. And every Sunday afternoon the good
citizens of Ringeby walked out along the fjord, with their wives on
their arms. On these occasions most of the men wore frock coats and grey
felt hats; but Enebak, the tanner, being hunchbacked, preferred a tall
silk hat, as better suited to eke out his height.
On Saturday evenings, when twilight began to fall, the younger men would
meet at the corner outside Hammer's store, to discuss the events of the
week.
"Have you heard the latest news?" asked Lovli, the bank cashier, of his
friend the telegraphist, who came up.
"News? Do you tell me that there's ever any news in this accursed hole?"
"Merle Uthoug has come back from the mountains--engaged to be married."
"The devil she is! What does the old man say to that?"
"Oh, well, the old man will want an engineer if he's to get the new
timber-mills into his clutches.
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