Part 51 (1/2)

So Pelle had to tell it all on the stairs; how there was a Swedish timber s.h.i.+p whose skipper's wife was taken with childbirth out at sea, and how the cook had to deliver her; of a Russian vessel which had run into port with a mutiny on board; and anything else that might have happened. To-day there were only these boots. ”They are from the salvage steamer--they want soling.”

”H'm!” The master looked at them indifferently. ”Is the schooner _Andreas_ ready to sail?”

But that Pelle did not know.

”What sort of a sheep's head have you got, then? Haven't you any eyes in it? Well, well, go and get me three bottles of beer! Only stick them under your blouse so that father don't see, you monster!” The master was quite good-tempered again.

Then Pelle got into his ap.r.o.n and buckled on the knee-strap. Everybody was bending over his work, and Master Andres was reading; no sound was to be heard but those produced by the workers, and now and again a word of reprimand from the journeyman.

Every second afternoon, about five o'clock, the workshop door would open slightly, and a naked, floury arm introduced the newspaper and laid it on the counter. This was the baker's son, Soren, who never allowed himself to be seen; he moved about from choice like a thief in the night. If the master--as he occasionally did--seized him and pulled him into the workshop, he was like a scared faun strayed from his thickets; he would stand with hanging head, concealing his eyes, and no one could get a word from him; and when he saw an opportunity, he would slip away.

The arrival of the newspaper caused quite a small commotion in the workshop. When the master felt inclined, he would read aloud--of calves with two heads and four pairs of legs; of a pumpkin that weighed fifty pounds; of the fattest man in the world; of fatalities due to the careless handling of firearms, or of snakes in Martinique. The dazzling wonder of the whole world pa.s.sed like a pageant, filling the dark workshop; the political news was ignored. If the master happened to be in one of his desperate humors, he would read the most d.a.m.nable nonsense: of how the Atlantic Ocean had caught fire, so that the people were living on boiled codfish; or how the heavens had got torn over America, so that angels fell right on to somebody's supper-tray. Things which one knew at once for lies--and blasphemous nonsense, too, which might at any time have got him into trouble. Rowing people was not in the master's line, he was ill the moment there was any unpleasantness; but he had his own way of making himself respected. As he went on reading some one would discover that he was getting a wigging, and would give a jump, believing that all his failings were in the paper.

When the time drew near for leaving off work, a brisker note sounded in the workshop. The long working-day was coming to an end, and the day's weariness and satiety were forgotten, and the mind looked forward--filling with thoughts of the sand-hills or the woods, wandering down a road that was bright with pleasure. Now and again a neighbor would step in, and while away the time with his gossip; something or other had happened, and Master Andres, who was so clever, must say what he thought about it. Sounds that had been confused during the day now entered the workshop, so that those within felt that they were partic.i.p.ating in the life of the town; it was as though the walls had fallen.

About seven o'clock a peculiar sound was heard in the street without, approaching in very slowly _tempo;_ there was a dull thump and then two clacking sounds; and then came the thump again, like the tread of a huge padded foot, and once more the clack-clack. This was old Bjerregrav, swinging toward the workshop on his crutches; Bjerregrav, who moved more slowly than anybody, and got forward more quickly. If Master Andres happened to be in one of his bad humors, he would limp away, in order not to remain in the same room with a cripple; at other times he was glad to see Bjerregrav.

”Well, you are a rare bird, aren't you?” he would cry, when Bjerregrav reached the landing and swung himself sideways through the door; and the old man would laugh--he had paid this visit daily now for many years.

The master took no further notice of him, but went on reading; and Bjerregrav sank into his dumb pondering; his pale hands feeling one thing after another, as though the most everyday objects were unknown to him. He took hold of things just as a newborn child might have done; one had to smile at him and leave him to sit there, grubbing about like the child he really was. It was quite impossible to hold a continuous conversation with him; for even if he did actually make an observation it was sure to be quite beside the mark; Bjerregrav was given to remarking attributes which no one else noticed, or which no one would have dwelt upon.

When he sat thus, pondering over and fingering some perfectly familiar object, people used to say, ”Now Bjerregrav's questioning fit is coming on!” For Bjerregrav was an inquirer; he would ask questions about the wind and the weather, and even the food that he ate. He would ask questions about the most laughable subjects--things that were self-evident to any one else--why a stone was hard, or why water extinguished fire. People did not answer him, but shrugged their shoulders compa.s.sionately. ”He is quite all there,” they would say; ”his head's all right. But he takes everything the wrong way round!”

The young master looked up from his book. ”Now, shall I inherit Bjerregrav's money?” he asked mischievously.

”No--you've always been good to me; I don't want to cause you any misfortune.”

”Worse things than that might befall me, don't you think?”

”No, for you've got a fair competence. No one has a right to more, so long as the many suffer need.”

”Certain people have money in the bank themselves,” said Master Andres allusively.

”No, that's all over,” answered the old man cheerfully. ”I'm now exactly as rich as you.”

”The devil! Have you run through the lot?” The young master turned round on his chair.

”You and your 'run through it all'! You always sit over me like a judge and accuse me of things! I'm not conscious of having done anything wrong; but it's true that the need gets worse every winter. It's a burden to have money, Andres, when men are hungry all about you; and if you help them then you learn afterward that you've done the man injury; they say it themselves, so it must be true. But now I've given the money to the Charity Organization Society, so now it will go to the right people.”

”Five thousand kroner!” said the master, musing. ”Then there ought to be great rejoicing among the poor this winter.”

”Well, they won't get it direct in food and firing,” said Bjerregrav, ”but it will come to them just as well in other ways. For when I'd made my offer to the Society, s.h.i.+powner Monsen--you know him--came to me, and begged me to lend him the money at one year. He would have gone bankrupt if he hadn't had it, and it was terrible to think of all the poor people who would have gone without bread if that great business of his had come to a standstill. Now the responsibility falls on me. But the money is safe enough, and in that way it does the poor twice as much good.”

Master Andres shook his head. ”Suppose Bjerregrav has just sat himself down in the nettles?”

”Why? But what else could I have done?” said the old man uneasily.

”The devil knows it won't be long before he's bankrupt. He's a frothy old rogue,” murmured the master. ”Has Bjerregrav got a note of hand?”

The old man nodded; he was quite proud of himself.