The things we do!

If he makes a false stroke, he takes it patiently, and
does not trouble himself; but whenever he knocks his knuckles, he turns
irritable and says: "_Fan! Fansmagt_!" [Footnote: "The Devil! Power
of the Devil!"]--and then looks round suddenly and starts humming a tune
to cover his words.
Yes; I recognize that painter man. Only, he's not a painter at all, the
rascal, but Grindhusen, one of the men I worked with when I was roadmaking
at Skreia.
I go up to him, and ask if he remembers me, and we talk a bit.
Many, many years it is now since we were roadmenders together, Grindhusen
and I; we were youngsters then, and danced along the roads in the sorriest
of shoes, and ate what we could get as long as we had money enough for
that. But when we'd money to spare, then there would be dancing with the
girls all Saturday night, and a crowd of our fellow-workers would come
along, and the old woman in the house sold us coffee till she must have
made a little fortune. Then we worked on heart and soul another week
through, looking forward to the Saturday again.


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