"My father should have known this!" Tidemand would often say when he gave
his signature. His father had a reputation for miserly thrift which had
survived him; he was one of the old-fashioned tradesmen, who went around
in his shirt-sleeves and apron, and weighed out soap and flour by the
pound. He had no time to dress decently; his shoes were still a byword;
the toes were sticking out, and when he walked it looked as if his toes
were searching for pennies on the flagstones. The son did not resemble the
father much; for him the old horizons had been broken, cracked wide, and
opened large views; his optimistic business courage was recognised.
Ole Henriksen had just dropped in on him in his office and was talking
about the projected tannery for which an ideal site had been found near
Torahus. This enterprise was bound to amount to something in the near
future; the great forests were being cut rapidly; the lumber was sold here
and abroad. But two and three inch cuttings and the tops were left and
went to waste. What a lack of foresight! Pine bark contained nearly twenty
per cent tannin; why not utilise it and make money out of it?
"We will see what can be done next spring.
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