Part 9 (1/2)
”But how did you manage it? What did the schoolmaster say?”
”'Do you suppose that you--you with your antecedents--could ever pa.s.s into the Technical College?' he said. And I told him I HAD pa.s.sed. 'Good heavens! How could you possibly qualify?' and he s.h.i.+fted his gla.s.ses down his nose. And then: 'Oh, no! it's no good coming here with tales of that sort, my lad.' Well, then I showed him the certificate, and he got much meeker. 'Really!' he said, and 'Dear me!' and all that. But I say, Louise--there's another Holm entered for the autumn term.”
”Peer, you don't mean--your half-brother?”
”And old Dressing-gown said it would never do--never! But I said it seemed to me there must be room in the world for me as well, and I'd like that bank book now, I said. 'You seem to fancy you have some legal right to it,' he said, and got perfectly furious. Then I hinted that I'd rather ask a lawyer about it and make sure, and at that he regularly boiled with rage and waved his arms all about. But he gave in pretty soon all the same--said he washed his hands of the whole thing.
'And besides,' he said, 'your name's Troen, you know--Peer Troen.'
Ho-ho-ho--Peer Troen! Wouldn't he like it! Tra-la-la-la!--I say, let's go out and get a little fresh air.”
Peer said nothing then or after about Klaus Brock, and Klaus himself was going off home for the summer holidays. As the summer wore on the town lay baking in the heat, reeking of drains, and the air from the stable came up to the couple in the garret so heavy and foul that they were sometimes nearly stifled.
”I'll tell you what,” said Peer one day, ”we really must spend a few s.h.i.+llings more on house rent and get a decent place to live in.”
And Louise agreed. For till the time came for him to join the College in the autumn, Peer was obliged to stick to the workshops; he could not afford a holiday just now.
One morning he was just starting with a working gang down to Stenkjaer to repair some damage in the engine-room of a big Russian grain boat, when Louise came and asked him to look at her throat. ”It hurts so here,” she said.
Peer took a spoon and pressed down her tongue, but could not see anything wrong. ”Better go and see the doctor, and make sure,” he said.
But the girl made light of it. ”Oh, nonsense!” she said; ”it's not worth troubling about.”
Peer was away for over a week, sleeping on board with the rest. When he came back, he hurried home, suddenly thinking of Louise and her sore throat. He found the job-master greasing the wheels of a carriage, while his wife leaned out of a window scolding at him. ”Your sister,”
repeated the carter, turning round his face with its great red lump of nose--”she's gone to hospital--diphtheria hospital--she has. Doctor was here over a week ago and took her off. They've been here since poking round and asking who she was and where she belonged--well, we didn't know. And asking where you were, too--and we didn't know either. She was real bad, if you ask me--”
Peer hastened off. It was a hot day, and the air was close and heavy.
On he went--all down the whole length of Sea Street, through the fishermen's quarter, and a good way further out round the bay. And then he saw a cart coming towards him, an ordinary work-cart, with a coffin on it. The driver sat on the cart, and another man walked behind, hat in hand. Peer ran on, and at last came in sight of the long yellow building at the far end of the bay. He remembered all the horrible stories he had heard about the treatment of diphtheria patients--how their throats had to be cut open to give them air, or something burned out of them with red-hot irons--oh! When at last he had reached the high fence and rung the bell, he stood breathless and dripping with sweat, leaning against the gate.
There was a sound of steps within, a key was turned, and a porter with a red moustache and freckles about his hard blue eyes thrust out his head.
”What d'you want to go ringing like that for?”
”Froken Hagen--Louise Hagen--is she better? How--how is she?”
”Lou--Louise Hagen? A girl called Louise Hagen? Is it her you've come to ask about?”
”Yes. She's my sister. Tell me--or--let me in to see her.”
”Wait a bit. You don't mean a girl that was brought in here about a week ago?”
”Yes, yes--but let me in.”
”We've had no end of bother and trouble about that girl, trying to find out where she came from, and if she had people here. But, of course, this weather, we couldn't possibly keep her any longer. Didn't you meet a coffin on a cart as you came along?”
”What--what--you don't mean--?”
”Well, you should have come before, you know. She did ask a lot for some one called Peer. And she got the matron to write somewhere--wasn't it to Levanger? Were you the fellow she was asking for? So you came at last!
Oh, well--she died four or five days ago. And they're just gone now to bury her, in St. Mary's Churchyard.”
Peer turned round and looked out over the bay at the town, that lay sunlit and smoke-wreathed beyond. Towards the town he began to walk, but his step grew quicker and quicker, and at last he took off his cap and ran, panting and sobbing as he went. Have I been drinking? was the thought that whirled through his brain, or why can't I wake? What is it? What is it? And still he ran. There was no cart in sight as yet; the little streets of the fisher-quarter were all twists and turns. At last he reached Sea Street once more, and there--there far ahead was the slow-moving cart. Almost at once it turned off to the right and disappeared, and when Peer reached the turning, it was not to be seen.