Part 138 (2/2)

Pelle could see no place for himself, however, in this conflict. ”Hi, you there! I suppose you've voted?” men shouted to him as they pa.s.sed.

Voted! He had not even the right to vote! In the battle that was now being fought, their old leader was not even allowed to take part as an ordinary soldier.

Out of the road! They marched in small bands on their way to the polling-booths or the a.s.sembly Rooms, taking up the whole pavement, and Pelle readily moved out of their way. This time he did not come like a king's son for whom the whole world stood waiting.

He was of the sc.u.m of the earth, neither more nor less, one who had been thrown aside and forgotten. If he succeeded in recalling himself to their remembrance, it would only be the bringing up of the story of a criminal. There was the house where the Stolpes lived. Perhaps they knew where Ellen was. But what did it matter to him? He had not forgotten La.s.se Frederik's terror-stricken face. And there was the corner house where Morten had managed the business. Ah, it was long since their ways had parted! Morten had in reality always envied him; he had not been able to bear his tremendous success. Now he would be able to crow over him!

Anger and bitterness filled his heart, and his head was confused, and his thoughts, bred of malice, were like clumsy faultfinders. For years the need of a.s.sociating with human beings had been acc.u.mulating within him; and now the whole thing gave way like an avalanche. He could easily pick a quarrel with some one, just to make himself less a matter of indifference to the rest of the world. Why shouldn't he go to the ”Cupping-Gla.s.s”? He would be expected there at any rate.

Outside Griffenfeldt Street there was a crowd. A number of people had gathered round a coal-heaver, who was belaboring a lamp-post with the toes of his wooden shoes, at the same time using abusive language. He had run against it and had a bruise on his forehead. People were amusing themselves at his expense.

As the light from the lamp fell upon the coal-blackened face of the drunken man, Pelle recognized him. It was Merry Jacob. He pushed his way angrily through the crowd and took him by the shoulder. ”What's the matter with you, Jacob? Have you become a drunkard?” he said hotly.

”How's that?”

”It's got no business to get in the way of an organized workman,”

Jacob said indistinctly, kicking the air to the great delight of the onlookers, who encouraged him to continue. ”I'm a member of my organization, and don't owe anything; you can see for yourselves!” He pulled out of his breast-pocket a little book in a black leather cover, and turned over its pages. ”Just look for yourselves! Member's subscription paid, isn't it? Strike subscription paid, isn't it? Shown on entrance, isn't it? Just you shut up! Take it and pa.s.s it round; we must have our papers in order. You're supporting the election fund, I suppose? Go up and vote, confound you! The man who won't give his mite is a poor pal. Who says thief? There's no one here that steals. I'm an honest, organized--” He suddenly began to weep, and the saliva dropped from the corners of his mouth onto his coat, while he made fearful grimaces.

Pelle managed to get him into a courtyard, and washed his wound at the pump. The cold water made him s.h.i.+ver, and his head lolled weakly. ”Such a snotty blackleg!” he murmured. ”I'll get the chairman to give him a doing in the paper.”

Suddenly he recognized Pelle. He started, and consciousness struggled to obtain control over his dulled senses. ”Why, is that you, master?”

he asked shamefacedly, seizing Pelle's hand. ”So you've come back! I suppose you think me a beast, but what can I do?”

”Just come along!” said Pelle sharply, anxious to get away from the crowd of spectators.

They went down Meinung Street, Jacob staggering along in silence, and looking askance at his former leader. He walked a little awkwardly, but it came from his work; the meeting with Pelle had made him almost sober.

”I'm sure you think I'm a beast,” he said again at last in a pitiful voice. ”But you see there's no one to keep me straight.”

”It's the fault of the brandy,” said Pelle shortly.

”Well, you may be right, but a fellow needs a kind word now and then, and you have to take it where you can get it. Your pals look down upon you and chuck you out of their set.”

”What's the matter, then?” asked Pelle.

”What's the matter? Six times five's the matter, because I wouldn't let my old father starve during the lockout. We had a jolly good time then.

I was a good son! Didn't mind the fat purses of the bigwigs and a little bread and water--and the devil and his standpipe! But now they're singing another tune: That man! Why, he's been punished for theft! End of him. No one asks why; they've become big men, you see. In olden days I was always called Merry Jacob, and the fellows liked to be in my s.h.i.+ft. Do you know what they call me now? Thieving Jacob. Well, they don't say it right out, for if they did, some one 'ud crack their heads for them; but that is my name. Well, I say to myself, perhaps you saw everything topsy-turvy in those days; perhaps, after all, you're nothing but a thief. And then I have to drink to become an honest man again.”

”And get in rages with the lamp-posts! Don't you think you'd do better to hit out at those who wrong you?”

Jacob was silent and hung his head; the once strong, bold fellow had become like a dog that any one might kick. If it were so dreadful to bear six times five among one's own people, what could Pelle say? ”How is your brother?” he asked, in order to divert Jacob's thoughts to something brighter. ”He was a splendid fellow.”

”He hung himself,” answered Jacob gloomily. ”He couldn't stand it any longer. We broke into a house together, so as to be equal about it; and the grocer owed the old man money--he'd worked for it--and they meant to cheat him out of it. So the two old things were starving, and had no fire either; and we got them what they'd a right to, and it was so splendidly done too. But afterward when there was a row at the works, agitation and election fuss and all that kind of thing, they just went and left him and me out. We weren't the right sort, you see; we hadn't the right to vote. He couldn't get even with the business in any other way than by putting a rope over the lamp-hook in the ceiling. I've looked at the matter myself all round, you see, but I can't make anything of it.” He walked on a little without speaking, and then said: ”Would you hit out properly now? There's need of a kind word.”

Pelle did not answer; it was all too sad. He did not even hear the question.

”It was chiefly what you said that made me believe in a better time coming,” Jacob continued persistently, ”or perhaps my brother and me would have done differently and things might have gone better with both of us. Well, I suppose you believed it yourself, but what do you think now? Do you still believe in that about the better time? For I should like to be an honest man again.”

Of course Pelle still believed in it.

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