Part 7 (1/2)
It was time for Peer to be off, and, warning the girl not to go too far from home and get lost, he ran down the stairs.
At the works he met Klaus Brock, and told him that his sister had come to town.
”But what are you going to do with her?” asked Klaus.
”Oh, she'll stay with me for the present.”
”Stay with you? But you've only got one room and one bed, man!”
”Well--she can sleep on the floor.”
”She? Your sister? She's to sleep on the floor--and you in the bed!”
gasped Klaus.
Peer saw he had made a mistake again. ”Of course I was only fooling,” he hastened to say. ”Of course it's Louise that's to have the bed.”
When he came home he found she had borrowed a frying-pan from the carter's wife, and had fried some bacon and boiled potatoes; so that they sat down to a dinner fit for a prince.
But when the girl's eyes fell on the coloured print on the wall, and she asked if it was a painting, Peer became very grand at once. ”That--a painting? Why, that's only an oleograph, silly! No, I'll take you along to the Art Gallery one day, and show you what real paintings are like.”
And he sat drumming with his fingers on the table, and saying: ”Well, well--well, well, well!”
They agreed that Louise had better look out at once for some work to help things along. And at the first eating-house they tried, she was taken on at once in the kitchen to wash the floor and peel potatoes.
When bedtime came he insisted on Louise taking the bed. ”Of course all that was only a joke last night,” he explained. ”Here in town women always have the best of everything--that's what's called manners.” As he stretched himself on the hard floor, he had a strange new feeling. The narrow little garret seemed to have widened out now that he had to find room in it for a guest. There was something not unpleasant even in lying on the hard floor, since he had chosen to do it for some one else's sake.
After the lamp was out he lay for a while, listening to her breathing.
Then at last:
”Louise.”
”Yes?”
”Is your father--was his name Hagen?”
”Yes. It says so on the certificate.”
”Then you're Froken Hagen. Sounds quite fine, doesn't it?”
”Uf! Now you're making fun of me.”
”And when you're a midwife, Froken Hagen might quite well marry a doctor, you know.”
”Silly! There's no chance--with hands like mine.”
”Do you think your hands are too big for you to marry a doctor?”
”Uf! you ARE a crazy thing. Ha-ha-ha!”
”Ha-ha-ha!”