"Yes, and so mysterious about things. And conceited, too."
"Which, with his dirty vest and frayed trousers...." added Lund in agreement.
"I suppose he'll go sailing round with it to show it off?"
"Those patent things are never any good," said Trane energetically. He knew. He had a patent pipe at home, that was always sour.
Lund and Trane stopped in surprise when they came down to the beach and found how many others of the townsfolk had had the same idea of going down that way. Lund made as if to turn back, but realised that it was too late, and laughed with great heartiness. And those on the spot laughed again in perfect comprehension--they had felt exactly the same way themselves. One of them had made a long detour round by Etatsraaden's garden, and others had done the same as Lund, walking smartly out as if going a long way, and then turning off suddenly, as if by the impulse of the moment, towards the beach.
Well, _Herregud!_ here they were. And, anyhow, it was only reasonable to take what fun there might be going these sad times. There was not much in the way of amusement in the town.
Besides, it was pleasant enough, lying here in the soft dried seaweed and the warm tickling sand. The sun shone over the Belt and the green shores of Jutland beyond. They could, as Lund repeated again and again, enjoy the view.
He and Trane joined a group that had gathered for instruction in steam engines about the person of Lange, the schoolmaster.
"Then there's a pipe goes here...." The schoolmaster pointed to a certain spot in the air and came to a standstill. He was very nervous without a blackboard and his handbook of physics to help him out. And now here were those two unpleasant characters, Lund and Trane, lounging up in the middle of the lesson.
"A pipe goes there ... and that leads to the cylinder here...." He raised his voice and pointed again.
Trane, anxious to see as much as possible, craned his neck to follow the direction of Lange's index finger, but perceived, to his surprise, nothing more tangible than the driving clouds.
He shook his head. How could he tell his customers this? He gave it up, and lay down with the others to bask in the September sunshine.
Egholm's boat lay some twenty yards out; the shallow water prevented it from coming closer in. It was white, with a brilliant red stripe along the side. Behind the red-leaded funnel, which was supported with stays, could be seen curious parts of bright metal. Egholm was on his knees, hat in hand, puffing at the furnace. The fuel, which consisted of half-rotten fragments of board, was not quite dry. Now and again he lifted his head and gave a brief glance towards land.