And the
experts say it will be worth a million."
"Ho! and you want to come over me with a tale like that?" The widow
shifted her chair a little farther back.
"You must help us to carry on through this year--both of us. If you will
stand security for thirty thousand, the bank . . ."
Aunt Marit of Bruseth slapped her knees emphatically. "I'll do nothing
of the sort!"
"For twenty thousand, then?"
"Not for twenty pence!"
Lorentz Uthoug fixed his gaze on his sister's face; his red eyes began
to glow.
"You'll have to do it, Marit," he said calmly. He took a pipe from his
pocket and set to work to fill and light it.
The two sat for a while looking at each other, each on the alert for
fear the other's will should prove the stronger. They looked at each
other so long that at last both smiled involuntarily.
"I suppose you've taken to going to church with your wife now?" asked
the widow at last, her eyes blinking derision.
"If I put my trust in the Lord," he said, "I might just sit down and
pray and let things go to ruin. As it is, I've more faith in human
works, and that's why I'm here now."
The answer pleased her. The widow at Bruseth was no churchgoer herself.
She thought the Lord had made a bad mistake in not giving her any
children.
"Will you have some coffee?" she asked, rising from her seat.
"Now you're talking sense," said her brother, and his eyes twinkled. He
knew his sister and her ways. And now he lit his pipe and leaned back
comfortably in his chair.
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