THE AMERICAN-SCANDINA VIAN REVIEW 
405 
eddy from the nearest pier of the bridge with the foaming surge to 
right and left and the dusky arches of the bridge, ringing and singing 
over their heads. There was a dizziness in the suction between the 
bridge piers, a sensation of rapid movement and yet of rest. 
Lundstrom made fast to a ring and sat down at the crank by 
means of which he lowered and raised his net. 
“Now the job is to sink the net straight down,” he said; “and to do 
that one must manage so that it is half taken by the current and half 
by the back eddy. Perhaps the gentleman will give a pull at the oars. 
There, bring her in a little and it’ll be fine!” 
Leonard brought the boat in, and the net descended solemnly. 
The old man sank into meditation for a while, and this was a good 
time to study him. He was by no means ill to look at. 
Why should the upper classes be condemned to appear correct and 
banal? Why should fine folk go about as a monstrosity to every prac¬ 
ticed and sensitive eye? Look at Lundstrom’s jacket here! The sun 
and rain of all seasons has given it the most delicate shade of green. 
His hat with its admirable patina might be of bronze. And his trou¬ 
sers!—what a combination of characteristic wrinkles, telling of age, 
experience and strife well sustained. What a treasure for an artist in 
woodcuts! Lundstrom’s costume had grown as one with him. It was 
no wretched accident. Is there anything more agonizing than a tired, 
grumpy scarecrow that peers out of a brand new summer suit, glitter¬ 
ing with naive optimism ? Or red-cheeked, pious rusticity sewed up in 
cautiously gray, pessimistic duds from a distant, smoky, rain-dripping, 
overcrowded factory district? But out of Lundstrom’s worn collar 
grew a face covered with moss-gray stubble over a network of friendly 
wrinkles and furrows. And out of the stubble shot up a two-story 
nose with room for many a pinch of reflective snuff. Large noses may 
be either volcanic or placid. Lundstrom’s was placid. It separated 
genially but firmly two small gray, liquidly bright eyes, which never 
seemed to have fastened on anything that burned too hot, never to have 
stared at anything helplessly, never to have wavered anxiously about 
over empty, exhausting horizons. 
Lucky man, sighed Leonard. He sits peacefully under the voy¬ 
aging clouds, in the midst of the Northstream swollen with spring 
freshets he sits peacefully at his crank. He is on the far side of indefi¬ 
nite expectations and adventure and drifting about in the inane. He 
has happily left his future behind him. 
“But for heaven’s sake it must surely be time for you to haul up.” 
“No hurry, no hurry,” opined Lundstrom, who nevertheless began 
gently to turn the crank. The net came up with a good sediment of 
silver-white splashing smelts. 
With a quiet pursing of the lips the old man emptied his cargo 
