360 THE END OF THE WINTER 



as I knew Hanssen was very fond of a game of whist 

 after supper, and never missed it unless he had work 

 to do. I happened one evening to express my surprise 

 at this, and Stubberud answered at once : " He's making 

 handles."" What sort of handles?"" Whip-handles; 

 but," Stubberud added, 'I'll guarantee those hickory 

 handles I'm making. You can't have anything tougher 

 and stronger than those." He was rather sore about 

 it, that was easy to see; the idea was his own, too. 

 Then talk of the devil in walked Hanssen, with a 

 fine big whip in his hand. I, of course, appeared 

 extremely surprised. ' What," I said, " more whips?" 

 " Yes," said he; " I don't believe in those I'm making 

 in the daytime. But here's a whip that I can trust." 

 I must admit that it looked well. The whole handle 

 was covered, so that one could not see what it was 

 made of. " But," I ventured to object, " are you sure 

 it is as strong as the others?" " Oh, as to that," 

 he answered, "I'm quite ready to back it against any 



of those " He did not say the word, nor was there 



any need. His meaning was unmistakable, and " rotten 

 whips" sounded in our ears as plainly as if he had shouted 

 it. I had no time to observe the effect of this terrible 

 utterance, for a determined voice called out : ' We'll 

 see about that!" I turned round, and there was 

 Stubberud leaning against the end of the table, evidently 

 hurt by Hanssen's words, which he took as a personal 

 affront. " If you dare risk your whip, come on." 



