"Come in, come in," he said.
"What is this I hear," I said, "about your going back to Sweden?"
"For forty years," he said, "I've been homesick for Sweden. Now I'm an
old man and I'm going home."
"But, Carlstrom," I said, "we can't get along without you. Who's going
to keep us mended up?"
"You have Charles Baxter," he said, smiling.
For years there had been a quiet sort of rivalry between Carlstrom and
Baxter, though Baxter is in the country and works chiefly in wood.
"But Baxter can't mend a gun or a hay-rake, or a pump, to save his
life," I said. "You know that."
The old man seemed greatly pleased: he had the simple vanity which is
the right of the true workman. But for answer he merely shook his head.
"I have been here forty years," he said. "and all the time I have been
homesick for Sweden."
I found that several men of the town had been in to see Carlstrom and
talked with him of his plans, and even while I was there two other
friends came in. The old man was delighted with the interest shown.
After I left him I went down the street. It seemed as though everybody
had heard of Carlstrom's plans, and here and there I felt that the
secret hand of the Scotch Preacher had been at work.
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