Well, all that's as it
may be; leave it!" He is evidently tired, beginning to breathe in
little gasps. "Going down?" says he.

"Ay."

"There's no hurry. You owe me a long walk over the hills, Sivert man,
remember that? I remember it all. I remember from the time I was a
year and a half; stood leaning down from the barn bridge at Garmo, and
noticed a smell. I can smell it again now. But all that's as it may
be, that too; but we might have done that trip over the hills now if
you hadn't got that sack. What's in it?"

"Goods. 'Tis Andresen is going to sell them."

"Well, then, I'm a man that knows what's the right thing to do, but
doesn't do it," says Geissler. "I'm the fog. Now perhaps I'll buy that
mine back again one of these days, it's not impossible; but if I do,
it wouldn't be to go about staring up at the sky and saying, 'Aerial
railway! South America!' No, leave that to the gamblers. Folk
hereabout say I must be the devil himself because I knew beforehand
this was going to break up. But there's nothing mystical about me,
'tis simple enough. The new copper mines in Montana, that's all. The
Yankees are smarter than we are at that game; they are cutting us
to death in South America--our ore here's too poor. My son's the
lightning; he got the news, and I came floating up here. Simple, isn't
it? I beat those fellows in Sweden by a few hours, that's all."

Geissler is short of breath again; he gets on his feet, and says: "If
you're going down, let's get along."

They go on down together, Geissler dragging behind, all tired out. The
caravan has stopped at the quay, and Fredrik Stroem, cheerful as ever,
is poking fun at Aronsen: "I'm clean out of tobacco; got any tobacco,
what?"

"I'll give you tobacco," said Aronsen threateningly.

Fredrik laughs, and says comfortingly: "Nay, you've no call to take it
all heavy-like and sad, Aronsen. We're just going to sell these things
here before your eyes, and then we'll be off home again."

"Get away and wash your dirty mouth," says Aronsen furiously.

"Ha ha ha! Nay, you've no call to dance about that way; keep still and
look like a picture!"

Geissler is tired, tired out, even his smoked glasses do not help him
now, his eyes keep closing in the glare.

"Good-bye, Sivert man," says he all at once. "No, I can't get up to
Sellanraa this time, after all; tell your father. I've a heap of
things to see to. But I'll come later on--say that...."

Aronsen spits after him, a