hear what they said when the conversation turned upon the firm. He
therefore left the door and came up to the table, where Tom Robson made
room for him, and at the same time offered him a drink from his mug.

"Thanks, Mr. Robson," said Begmand, as he put the mug to his lips.

Tom Robson was not only the chairman, but at the same time the host of
the company, for it was he who paid for the liquor. By his side on the
bench he kept a bottle of rum, from which he every now and then poured
out a glass for each. He generally put a good drop of rum into his own
beer, "to kill the insects," he said. He was now occupied in cutting up
some cake tobacco to fill his pipe.

"Beautiful tobacco that, Mr. Robson," said Begmand.

"Take a bit," answered Tom, good naturedly.

"Thanks, Mr. Robson," said the old man, overjoyed, as he took out his
pipe, the stem of which was not more than half an inch long, while the
whole was as black as everything else which belonged to Anders.

He pressed down the moist tobacco as hard as he could, in the hope of
getting as much as would last for a day or two; he then picked up a
burning ember from the turf fire, which he applied to the bowl.

It was no easy matter to get the tobacco to light, but the smoke, when
it began to draw, seemed warm and comforting to the old man. He sat
there, crouching on the edge of the bench, eagerly watching Tom each
time he passed him the mug, and not forgetting to say "Thank you, Mr.
Robson," before he took his drink.