Part 5 (1/2)

In a narrow alley off Sea Street lived Gorseth the job-master, with a household consisting of a lean and skinny wife, two half-starved horses, and a few ramshackle flies and sledges. The job-master himself was a hulking toper with red nose and beery-yellow eyes, who spent his nights in drinking and got home in the small hours of the morning when his wife was just about getting up. All through the morning she went about the place scolding and storming at him for a drunken ne'er-do-well, while Gorseth himself lay comfortably snoring.

When Peer arrived on the scene with his box on his shoulder, Gorseth was on his knees in the yard, greasing a pair of leather carriage-ap.r.o.ns, while his wife, sunken-lipped and fierce-eyed, stood in the kitchen doorway, abusing him for a profligate, a swine, and the sc.u.m of the earth. Gorseth lay there on all-fours, with the sun s.h.i.+ning on his bald head, smearing on the grease; but every now and then he would lift his head and snarl out, ”Hold your jaw, you d.a.m.ned old jade!”

”Haven't you a room to let?” Peer asked.

A beery nose was turned towards him, and the man dragged himself up and wiped his hands on his trousers. ”Right you are,” said he, and led the way across the yard, up some stairs, and into a little room with two panes of gla.s.s looking on to the street and a half-window on the yard.

The room had a bed with sheets, a couple of chairs, and a table in front of the half-window. Six and six a month. Agreed. Peer took it on the spot, paid down the first month's rent, and having got rid of the man sat down on his chest and looked about him. Many people have never a roof to their heads, but here was he, Peer, with a home of his own.

Outside in the yard the woman had begun yelping her abuse again, the horses in the stable beneath were stamping and whinnying, but Peer had lodged in fisher-booths and peasants' quarters and was not too particular. Here he was for the first time in a place of his own, and within its walls was master of the house and his own master.

Food was the next thing. He went out and bought in supplies, stocking his chest with plain country fare. At dinner time he sat on the lid, as fishermen do, and made a good solid meal of flat bannocks and cold bacon.

And now he fell-to at his new work. There was no question of whether it was what he wanted or not; here was a chance of getting up in the world, and that without having to beg any one's leave. He meant to get on. And it was not long before his dreams began to take a new shape from his new life. He stood at the bottom of a ladder, a blacksmith's boy--but up at the top sat a mighty Chief Engineer, with gold spectacles and white waistcoat. That was where he would be one day. And if any schoolmaster came along and tried to keep him back this time--well, just let him try it. They had turned him out of a churchyard once--he would have his revenge for that some day. It might take him years and years to do it, but one fine day he would be as good as the best of them, and would pay them back in full.

In the misty mornings, as he tramped in to his work, dinner-pail in hand, his footsteps on the plank bridge seemed hammering out with concentrated will: ”To-day I shall learn something new--new--new!”

The great works down at the harbour--s.h.i.+pyard, foundry, and machine shops--were a whole city in themselves. And into this world of fire and smoke and glowing iron, steam-hammers, racing wheels, and bustle and noise, he was thrusting his way, intent upon one thing, to learn and learn and ever learn. There were plenty of those by him who were content to know their way about the little corner where they stood--but they would never get any farther. They would end their days broken-down workmen--HE would carve his way through till he stood among the masters.

He had first to put in some months' work in the smithy, then he would be pa.s.sed on to the machine shops, then to work with the carpenters and painters, and finally in the s.h.i.+pyard. The whole thing would take a couple of years. But the works and all therein were already a kind of new Bible to him; a book of books, which he must learn by heart. Only wait!

And what a place it was for new adventures! Many times a day he would find himself gazing at some new wonder; sheer miracle and revelation--yet withal no creation of G.o.d's grace, but an invention of men. Press a b.u.t.ton, and behold, a miracle springs to life. He would stare at the things, and the strain of understanding them would sometimes keep him awake at night. There was something behind this, something that must be--spirit, even though it did not come from G.o.d.

These engineers were priests of a sort, albeit they did not preach nor pray. It was a new world.

One day he was put to riveting work on an enormous boiler, and for the first time found himself working with a power that was not the power of his own hands. It was a tube, full of compressed air, that drove home the rivets in quick succession with a clas.h.i.+ng wail from the boiler that sounded all over the town. Peer's head and ears ached with the noise, but he smiled all the same. He was used to toil himself, in weariness of body; now he stood here master, was mind and soul and directing will. He felt it now for the first time, and it sent a thrill of triumph through every nerve of his body.

But all through the long evenings he sat alone, reading, reading, and heard the horses stamping in the stable below. And when he crept into bed, well after midnight, there was only one thing that troubled him--his utter loneliness. Klaus Brock lived with his uncle, in a fine house, and went to parties. And he lay here all by himself. If he were to die that very night, there would be hardly a soul to care. So utterly alone he was--in a strange and indifferent world.

Sometimes it helped him a little to think of the old mother at Troen, or of the church at home, where the vaulted roof had soared so high over the swelling organ-notes, and all the faces had looked so beautiful. But the evening prayer was no longer what it had been for him. There was no grey-haired bishop any more sitting at the top of the ladder he was to climb. The Chief Engineer that was there now had nothing to do with Our Lord, or with life in the world to come. He would never come so far now that he could go down into the place of torment where his mother lay, and bring her up with him, up to salvation. And whatever power and might he gained, he could never stand in autumn evenings and lift up his finger and make all the stars break into song.

Something was past and gone for Peer. It was as if he were rowing away from a coast where red clouds hung in the sky and dream-visions filled the air--rowing farther and farther away, towards something quite new. A power stronger than himself had willed it so.

One Sunday, as he sat reading, the door opened, and Klaus Brock entered whistling, with his cap on the back of his head.

”Hullo, old boy! So this is where you live?”

”Yes, it is--and that's a chair over there.”

But Klaus remained standing, with his hands in his pockets and his cap on, staring about the room. ”Well, I'm blest!” he said at last. ”If he hasn't stuck up a photograph of himself on his table!”

”Well, did you never see one before? Don't you know everybody has them?”

”Not their own photos, you a.s.s! If anybody sees that, you'll never hear the last of it.”

Peer took up the photograph and flung it under the bed. ”Well, it was a rubbishy thing,” he muttered. Evidently he had made a mistake. ”But what about this?”--pointing to a coloured picture he had nailed up on the wall.

Klaus put on his most manly air and bit off a piece of tobacco plug.

”Ah! that!” he said, trying not to laugh too soon.

”Yes; it's a fine painting, isn't it? I got it for fourpence.”

”Painting! Ha-ha! that's good! Why, you silly cow, can't you see it's only an oleograph?”