"I know it."
"It pays twelve dollars an hour, Arne. Every week. No hail. No interest rate. No Ardell Fenske."
"I know it."
"And I'd be leasing my own meadow back from you."
"Yes," said Arne. "You would."
Albin did not answer. He looked out the window at the white hills and the blue sky and the broken barn, and his face was the face of a man looking at weather; but it was not the same as it had been on the courthouse steps, and they both knew it.
"I'll think on it," he said. "I'll talk to Dorit. I'll think on it."
"That's all I'm asking."