But she was
especially fond of the warehouse, the little stall of an office down there
that was filled with tart and peculiar odours from all kinds of tropical
products. From the window she could see the docks, the harbour, the tugs
that brought cargoes in and out and puffed stertorously, shaking the very
air with their efforts. Just outside floated the little yacht with the
golden masthead; it was hers; it had been conveyed to her and belonged to
her legally. Ole had even been in _Veritas_ [Footnote: The Maritime
Insurance and Registry Office in Christiania.] and had its name changed to
_Aagot_. She had all the documents.
And slate after slate is brought into the office; the accounts grow a
little every day, they fill many columns, swell into larger and larger
amounts; the spring season has commenced, the active period just before
summer; all the pulses of trade the world over leap and quiver with
passionate energy.
While Ole counts and makes notes, Aagot busies herself with something or
other on the other side of the desk. She was often unable to understand
how Ole managed to keep all these accounts straight without getting the
amounts mixed; she had tried it herself, but in vain.
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