Part 74 (1/2)

The judge leaned out over the quay, in order to read his sentence over the ”Great Power”--three times must it be read, so the man might have opportunity to repent. He was deathly pale, and at the second announcement he started convulsively; but the ”Great Power” threw no dynamite cartridges at him; he merely lifted his hand to his head, as though in greeting, and made a few thrusting motions in the air with two of his fingers, which stood out from his forehead like a pair of horns.

From where the apothecary stood in a circle of fine ladies a stifled laugh was heard. All faces were turned to where the burgomaster's wife stood tall and stately on a block of stone. But she gazed down unflinchingly at the ”Great Power” as though she had never seen him before.

On the burgomaster the gesture had an effect like that of an explosion.

”Shoot him down!” he roared, with purple face, stumbling excitedly along the breakwater. ”Shoot him down, La.r.s.en!”

But no one heeded his command. All were streaming toward the wagon-slip, where an old, faded little woman was in the act of groping her way along the track toward the floor of the basin. ”It's the 'Great Power's'

mother!” The word pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth. ”No! How little and old she is! One can hardly believe she could have brought such a giant into the world!”

Excitedly they followed her, while she tottered over the broken stone of the floor of the basin, which was littered with the _debris_ of explosions until it resembled an ice-floe under pressure. She made her way but slowly, and it looked continually as though she must break her legs. But the old lady persevered, bent and withered though she was, with her shortsighted eyes fixed on the rocks before her feet.

Then she perceived her son, who stood with his iron bar poised in his hand. ”Throw the stick away, Peter!” she cried sharply, and mechanically he let the iron rod fall. He gave way before her, slowly, until she had pinned him in a corner and attempted to seize him; then he pushed her carefully aside, as though she was something that inconvenienced him.

A sigh went through the crowd, and crept round the harbor like a wandering shudder. ”He strikes his own mother--he must be mad!” they repeated, shuddering.

But the old woman was on her legs again. ”Do you strike your own mother, Peter?” she cried, with sheer amazement in her voice, and reached up after his ear; she could not reach so far; but the ”Great Power” bent down as though something heavy pressed upon him, and allowed her to seize his ear. Then she drew him away, over stock and stone, in a slanting path to the slipway, where the people stood like a wall. And he went, bowed, across the floor of the basin, like a great beast in the little woman's hands.

Up on the quay the police stood ready to fall upon the ”Great Power”

with ropes; but the old woman was like pepper and salt when she saw their intention. ”Get out of the way, or I'll let him loose on you!” she hissed. ”Don't you see he has lost his intellect? Would you attack a man whom G.o.d has smitten?”

”Yes, he is mad!” said the people, in a conciliatory tone; ”let his mother punish him--she is the nearest to him!”

XXI

Now Pelle and the youngest apprentice had to see to everything, for in November Jens had finished his term and had left at once. He had not the courage to go to Copenhagen to seek his fortune. So he rented a room in the poor quarter of the town and settled there with his young woman.

They could not get married; he was only nineteen years of age. When Pelle had business in the northern portion of the town he used to look in on them. The table stood between the bed and the window, and there sat Jens, working on repairs for the poor folk of the neighborhood.

When he had managed to get a job the girl would stand bending over him, waiting intently until he had finished, so that she could get something to eat. Then she would come back and cook something right away at the stove, and Jens would sit there and watch her with burning eyes until he had more work in hand. He had grown thin, and sported a spa.r.s.e pointed beard; a lack of nourishment was written in both their faces. But they loved one another, and they helped one another in everything, as awkwardly as two children who are playing at ”father and mother.” They had chosen the most dismal locality; the lane fell steeply to the sea, and was full of refuse; mangy cats and dogs ran about, dragging fish-offal up the steps of the houses and leaving it lying there. Dirty children were grubbing about before every door.

One Sunday morning, when Pelle had run out there to see them, he heard a shriek from one of the cottages, and the sound of chairs overturned.

Startled, he stood still. ”That's only one-eyed Johann beating his wife,” said an eight-year-old girl; ”he does that almost every day.”

Before the door, on a chair, sat an old man, staring imperturbably at a little boy who continually circled round him.

Suddenly the child ran inward, laid his hands on the old man's knee, and said delightedly: ”Father runs round the table--mother runs round the table--father beats mother--mother runs round the table and--cries.”

He imitated the crying, laughed all over his little idiot's face, and dribbled. ”Yes, yes,” was all the old man said. The child had no eyebrows, and the forehead was hollow over the eyes. Gleefully he ran round and round, stamping and imitating the uproar within. ”Yes, yes,”

said the old man imperturbably, ”yes, yes!”

At the window of one of the cottages sat a woman, gazing out thoughtfully, her forehead leaning against the sash-bar. Pelle recognized her; he greeted her cheerfully. She motioned him to the door.

Her bosom was still plump, but there was a shadow over her face. ”Hans!”

she cried uncertainly, ”here is Pelle, whose doing it was that we found one another!”

The young workman replied from within the room: ”Then he can clear out, and I don't care if he looks sharp about it!” He spoke threateningly.

In spite of the mild winter, Master Andres was almost always in bed now.

Pelle had to receive all instructions, and replace the master as well as he could. There was no making of new boots now--only repairs. Every moment the master would knock on the wall, in order to gossip a little.

”To-morrow I shall get up,” he would say, and his eyes would s.h.i.+ne; ”yes, that I shall, Pelle! Give me sunlight tomorrow, you devil's imp!