Part 138 (1/2)
Twilight was coming on. Below the churchyard wall some newspaper-boys were playing ”touch last” on their bicycles. They managed their machines like circus-riders, and resembled little gauchos, throwing them back and running upon the back wheel only, and bounding over obstacles. They had strapped their bags on their backs, and their blue cap-bands flapped about their ears like pennons.
Pelle seated himself upon a bench, and absently followed their reckless play, while his thoughts went back to his own careless boyhood. A boy of ten or twelve took the lead in breakneck tricks, shouting and commanding; he was the chief of the band, and maintained the leaders.h.i.+p with a high hand. His face, with its snub nose, beamed with lively impudence, and his cap rested upon two exceptionally prominent ears.
The boys began to make of the stranger a target for their exuberant spirits. In das.h.i.+ng past him they pretended to lose control of their machine, so that it almost went over his foot; and at last the leader suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed off his cap. Pelle quietly picked it up, but when the boy came circling back with measured strokes as though pondering some fresh piece of mischief he sprang up and seized him by the collar.
”Now you shall have a thras.h.i.+ng, you scamp!” he said, lifting him off his bicycle. ”But it'll be just as well if you get it from your parents.
What's your father's name?”
”He hasn't got a father!” cried the other boys, flocking round them threateningly. ”Let him go!”
The boy opened his lips to give vent to a torrent of bad language, but stopped suddenly and gazed in terror at Pelle, struggling like a mad thing to get away. Pelle let him go in surprise, and saw him mount his bicycle and disappear howling. His companions dashed after him like a flight of swallows. ”Wait a little, La.s.se Frederik!” they cried. Pelle stood a little while gazing after them, and then with bent head walked slowly into Norrebro Street.
It was strange to be walking again in this street, which had played so great a part in his life. The traffic was heavier here than in other places, and the stone paving made it more so. A peculiar adamantine self-dependence was characteristic of this district where every step was weighted with the weight of labor.
The shops were the same, and he also recognized several of the shopkeepers. He tried to feel at home in the crowd, and looked into people's faces, wondering whether any one would recognize him. He both wished and feared it, but they hurried past, only now and then one of them would wonder a little at his strange appearance. He himself knew most of them as well as if it had been yesterday he had had to do with those thousands, for the intermediate years had not thrust new faces in between him and the old ones. Now and again he met one of his men walking on the pavement with his wife on his arm, while others were standing on the electric tramcars as drivers and conductors. Weaklings and steady fellows--they were his army. He could name them by name and was acquainted with their family circ.u.mstances. Well, a good deal of water had run under the bridge since then!
He went into a little inn for travelling artisans, and engaged a room.
”It's easy to see that you've been away from this country for a day or two,” said the landlord. ”Have you been far?”
Oh, yes, Pelle had seen something of the world. And here at home there had been a good many changes. How did the Movement get on?
”Capitally! Yes, awfully well! Our party has made tremendous progress; to-day we shall take the town!”
”That'll make a difference in things, I suppose?”
”Oh, well, I wouldn't say that for certain. Unemployment increases every year, and it's all the same who represents the town and sits in parliament. But we've got on very well as far as prices go.”
”Tell me--there was a man in the Movement a few years ago called Pelle; what's become of him?”
The landlord scratched his parting. ”Pelle! Pelle! Yes, of course. What in the world was there about him? Didn't he make false coins, or rob a till? If I remember right, he ended by going to prison. Well, well, there are bad characters in every movement.”
A couple of workmen, who were sitting at a table eating fried liver, joined in the conversation. ”He came a good deal to the front five or six years ago,” said one of them with his mouth full. ”But there wasn't much in him; he had too much imagination.”
”He had the gift of the gab, anyhow,” said the other. ”I still distinctly remember him at the great lock-out. He could make you think you were no end of a fine fellow, he could! Well, that's all past and gone! Your health, comrade!”
Pelle rose quietly and went out. He was forgotten; n.o.body remembered anything about him, in spite of all that he had fought for and suffered.
Much must have pa.s.sed over their heads since then, and him they had simply forgotten.
He did not know what to do with himself, more homeless here in this street, which should have been his own, than in any other place. It was black with people, but he was not carried with the stream; he resembled something that has been washed up to one side and left lying.
They were all in their best clothes. The workmen came in crowds on their way either from or to the polling-booths, and some were collected and accompanied thither by eager comrades. One man would shout to another across the road through his hollowed hand: ”Hi, Petersen! I suppose you've voted?” Everywhere there was excitement and good humor: the city was to be taken!
Pelle went with the stream over Queen Louise's Bridge and farther into the city. Here the feeling was different, opinions were divided, people exchanged sharp words. Outside the newspaper-offices stood dense crowds impeding the wheel-traffic as they waited patiently for the results that were shown in the windows. Every time a contested district came in, a wave of movement pa.s.sed through the crowd, followed by a mighty roar if a victory was recorded. All was comparatively quiet; people stood outside the offices of the papers that bore the color of their party.
Only the quarrelsome men gathered about their opponents and had their hats bashed in. Within the offices the members of the staff were pa.s.sing busily backward and forward, hanging up the results and correcting them.
All the _cafes_ and restaurants were full of customers. The telephone rang incessantly, and messengers kept coming with lists from the telegram bureaus; men fought over the results in front of the great blackboard and chances were discussed at the tables and much political nonsense was talked.
Pelle had never seen the city so excited, not even during the great lock-out. Cla.s.s faced cla.s.s with clenched fists, the workmen even more eager than the upper cla.s.s: they had become out-and-out politicians. He could see that the Movement had s.h.i.+fted its center of gravity over this.
What was necessary was to gain seats; to-day they expected to get the upper hand in the city and a firm footing out in the country. Several of the old leaders were already in parliament and brought forward their practical experience in the debate; their aim now was nothing less than to usurp the political power. This was bold enough: they must have been successful, after all. He still possessed his old quickness of hearing as regards the general feeling, and perceived a change in the public tone. It had become broader, more democratic. Even the upper cla.s.ses submitted to the ballot now, and condescended to fight for a majority of votes.