everything, aren’t they?  There’s but this much wrong with it all; they forget that gambling isn’t courage, ’tis not even foolhardy courage, ’tis a horror.  D’you know what gambling is?  ’Tis fear, with the sweat on your brow, that’s what it is.  What’s wrong with them is, they won’t keep pace with life, but want to go faster—­race on, tear on ahead, driving themselves into life itself like wedges.  And then the flanks of them say:  here, stop, there’s something breaking, find a remedy; stop, say the flanks!  And then life crushes them, politely but firmly crushes them.  And then they set to complaining about life, raging against life!  Each to his own taste; some may have ground to complain, others not, but there’s none should rage against life.  Not be stern and strict and just with life, but be merciful to it, and take its part; only think of the gamblers life has to bear with!”

Geissler recollects himself again, and says:  “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.”