Pelle the Conqueror Part 114

Peter's character had taken on a little kink; he was no longer so cheerful over his work, and he often played the truant, loafing about the streets instead of going to the factory. Sometimes he could not be got out of bed in the morning; he crept under the bedclothes and hid himself. "I can't work with my bad hand," he would say, crying, when Marie wanted to drag him out; "every moment the knives are quite close to it and nearly chop it off."

"Then stay at home!" said Marie at last. "Look after the house and I will go out and see if I can earn something. I can get work as a charwoman in the new buildings in Market Street."

But at that he got up and slunk away; he would not allow a woman to earn his food for him.

Karl was a brisk, merry young vagabond; nothing made any impression on him. The streets had brought him up, had covered his outer man with a coating of grime, and had lit the inextinguishable sparks in his eyes.

He was like the sparrows of the capital; black with soot, but full of an urban sharpness, they slip in and out among the heavy wagon-wheels, and know everything. He was always getting into difficulties, but always came home with a whole skin. His continual running about seemed to have got into his blood like a never-resting impulse.

He was full of shifts for lessening the uncertainty of his earnings, and the little household depended princ.i.p.ally on him. But now he had had enough of seeking his living in the streets; he wanted to get on; he wanted most of all to be a shopkeeper. The only thing that held him back was his regard for his home.

Pelle saw that the little home would have to be broken up. Marie was developing rapidly; she must leave the "Ark," and if Karl could not live his own life, but was forced to sacrifice himself to his brother and sister, he would end as a street-loafer. Pelle resolved suddenly to deal with the matter himself, as his habit was. He obtained an outfit for Karl from a charitable society, and placed him as apprentice with a shopkeeper for whom the boy had run errands.

One Sunday afternoon he went over to the "Ark" with a big parcel under his arm. He was holding Young La.s.se by the hand; every moment the child stooped down, picked up a little stone, dragged his father to the quay-wall, and threw the stone into the water. He chattered incessantly.

Pelle mechanically allowed himself to be pulled aside, and answered the child at random. He was thinking of the children's little home, which had once been so hospitably opened to him, and must now be broken up.

Perhaps it would be the salvation of Karl and Marie; there was a future for them outside; they were both young and courageous. And Father La.s.se could come to him; it would be quite possible to make up his bed in the living-room at night and put it out of the way in the daytime. Ellen was no longer so particular. But Peter--what was to become of him? The home was the only thing that still held him.

When Young La.s.se looked through the tunnel-entry into the darkness of the "Ark" he did not want to go in. "Ugly, ugly!" he said, in energetic refusal. Pelle had to take him in his arms. "La.s.se not like that!" he said, pushing with his hands against his father's shoulders. "La.s.se wants to go back! get down!"

"What!" said Pelle, laughing, "doesn't Young La.s.se like the 'Ark'?

Father thinks it's jolly here!"

"Why?" asked the boy, pouting.

"Why?" Well, Pelle could not at once explain. "Because I lived here once on a time!" he replied.

"And where was Young La.s.se then?"

"Then you used to sit in mother's eyes and laugh at father."

At this the child forgot his fear of the darkness and the heavy timbers.

He pressed his round little nose against his father's, and gazed into his eyes, in order to see whether a little boy was sitting in them too.

He laughed when he glimpsed himself in them. "Who sits in mother's eyes now?" he asked.

"Now a little sister sits there, who likes to play with Young La.s.se,"

said Pelle. "But now you must walk again--it doesn't do for a man to sit on anybody's arm!"

The three orphans were waiting for him eagerly; Karl hopped and leaped into the air when he saw Pelle.

"Where is Father La.s.se?" asked Pelle.

"He has gone out with the hand-cart for the second-hand dealer," said Marie; "he had to fetch a sofa." She had taken Young La.s.se on her lap and was almost eating him.

Karl put on his fine new clothes, his fresh face beaming with delight.

The trousers were fully long enough, but it was quite fashionable to go about with turned-up trousers. That was easily got over.

"Now you look like a real grocer!" said Pelle, laughing.

Karl ran out into the gangway and came back immediately with his head wetted and his hair parted down the middle. "Ach, you fool, why don't you leave well alone!" cried Marie, ruffling his head. A fight ensued.

Peter sat in a corner, self-absorbed, staring gloomily out of the window.

"Now, Peter, hold your head up!" cried Pelle, clapping him on the shoulder. "When we've got the great Federation together and things are working properly, I'll manage something for you too. Perhaps you can act as messenger for us."

Peter did not reply, but turned his head away.

"He's always like that--he's so grumpy! Do at least be a little polite, Peter!" said Marie irritably. The boy took his cap and went out.

"Now he's going out by the North Bridge, to his sweetheart--and we shan't see anything of him for the next few days," said Marie, looking after him. "She's a factory girl--she's had a child by one man--he deserted her," said Marie.

"He has a sweetheart already?" said Pelle.

"What of that? He's seventeen. But there's nothing in her."

"She has red hair! And she drags one leg behind her as though she wanted to take the pavement with her," said Karl. "She might well be his mother."

"I don't think you ought to tease him," said Pelle seriously.

"We don't," said Marie. "But he won't have it when we try to be nice to him. And he can't bear to see us contented. La.s.se says it is as though he were bewitched."

"I have a situation for you too, Marie," said Pelle. "With Ellen's old employers in Holberg Street--you'll be well treated there. But you must be ready by October."

"That will be fine! Then Karl and I can go into situations on the same day!" She clapped her hands. "But Peter!" she cried suddenly. "Who will look after him? No, I can't do it, Pelle!"

"We must see if we can't find nice lodgings for him. You must take the situation--you can't go on living here."

Prom the end of the long gangway came a curious noise, which sounded like a mixture of singing and crying. Young La.s.se got down onto his feet near the open door, and said, "Sh! Singing! Sh!"

"Yes! That's the pasteboard-worker and her great Jutlander," said Marie. "They've got a funeral to-day. The poor little worm has ceased to suffer, thank G.o.d!"

"Is that any one new?" said Pelle.

"No, they are people who moved here in the spring. He hasn't been living here, but every Sat.u.r.day he used to come here and take her wages. 'You are crazy to give him your wages when he doesn't even live with you!' we told her. 'He ought to get a thrashing instead of money!' 'But he's the child's father!' she said, and she went on giving him her money. And on Sunday, when he had drunk it, he regretted it, and then he used to come and beat her, because she needn't have given it to him. She was an awful fool, for she could just have been out when he came. But she was fond of him and thought nothing of a few blows--only it didn't do for the child.

She never had food for it, and now it's dead."

The door at the end of the gangway opened, and the big Jutlander came out with a tiny coffin under his arm. He was singing a hymn in an indistinct voice, as he stood there waiting. In the side pa.s.sage, behind the part.i.tion-wall, a boy's voice was mocking him. The Jutlander's face was red and swollen with crying, and the debauch of the night before was still heavy in his legs. Behind him came the mother, and now they went down the gangway with funeral steps; the woman's thin black shawl hung mournfully about her, and she held her handkerchief to her mouth; she was crying still. Her livid face had a mildewed appearance.

Pelle and Young La.s.se had to be off. "You are always in such a hurry!"

said Marie dolefully. "I wanted to make coffee."

"Yes, I've got a lot to do to-day still. Otherwise I'd gladly stay with you a bit."

"Do you know you are gradually getting quite famous?" said Marie, looking at him in admiration. "The people talk almost as much about you as they do about the big tinplate manufacturer. They say you ruined the biggest employer in the city."

"Yes. I ruined his business," said Pelle, laughing. "But where has the shopwalker got to?"

"He's gone down into the streets to show himself!"

Karl, sure enough, was strolling about below and allowing the boys and girls to admire him. "Look, when we come into the shop and the grocer isn't there you'll stand us treat!" Pelle heard one of them say.