Garman And Worse A Norwegian Novel, Alexander Lange Kielland [best novels to read in english .txt] 📗

Arms Were Strong And Powerful,  And He Gesticulated With Them As

He Talked,  And Gave Force To His Words By Striking The Table With His

Fist. He Became Every Moment More Violent,  As He Got Heated By Drink And

Argument.

 

He Was Not Going To The School To Please Garman And Worse; And As To His

Drinking,  What Had The Young Consul Got To Do With That? But They Should

See What He Would Do. And With A Mighty Oath,  He Shook His Clenched Fist

In The Direction Of Sandsgaard.

 

"Right You Are,  My Boy!" Cried Tom Robson,  Laughing; "Good Again. Let Us

See What You Are Made Of."

 

Robson Was Never So Happy As When He Could Get Martin To Talk Himself

Into A Fury,  Which Was Not A Very Difficult Task.

 

Chapter 6 Pg 40

Ever Since His Childhood Martin Had Shown Himself Of A Worthless And

Cross-Grained Nature. His Character At School Was,  That He Was One Of

The Cleverest And At The Same Time The Most Quarrelsome Among The Boys,

And Since Then He Had Done Nothing But Fall Foul Of Everything And

Everybody He Came In contact With. Martin Did Most Of The Talking Of The

Four,  Who Already Began To Be Excited By Drink. It Would Perhaps Be More

Correct To Say,  Of The Three,  For Torpander Was Not There To Drink,  But

Only To Be Near Marianne. Woodlouse Did Not Say Much,  For He Heard But

Little; And When Mr. Robson,  Who Had Taken On Himself The Duty Of

Chairman,  Gave Him An Opportunity Of Speaking,  Woodlouse Used So Many

Strange Expressions That The Others Did Not Understand Him.

 

Neither Did Torpander Do Much Of The Talking: For Him The Event Of The

Evening Was Marianne'S Return,  After Which He Preferred To Sit In Silent

Rapture. This Afternoon,  However,  Torpander Joined Martin In His Attack

On The Garmans,  Whom He Also Hated,  And Poured Forth A Lot Of Newspaper

Tirade About The Tyranny Of Capital,  And Such Like.

 

"Oh,  Stop That Infernal Swedish Jargon!" Cried The Chairman,  "And Let Us

Hear What Woodlouse Is Mumbling About."

 

"You See,  Gentlemen," Began Woodlouse,  Eagerly,  "The Right Of The

Proletariat--"

 

"What Does He Mean?" Shouted Martin.

 

Woodlouse Did Not Hear The Remark,  And Paused In His Speech,  As His Eyes

Wandered Inquiringly From One To Another To See If They Were Listening.

 

But Martin Could Not Keep Silent Any Longer,  And Broke Out Into A Volley

Of Oaths And Curses Against Garman And Worse,  Capital,  Captain,  And The

Whole World,  Only Interrupting Himself Occasionally To Take A Drink Or

Light His Pipe Over The Lamp.

 

Old Anders Had At First Taken His Place By The Kitchen Door,  But That

Evening They Seemed To Be Pretty Quiet,  And He Was Always Anxious To

Hear What They Said When The Conversation Turned Upon The Firm. He

Therefore Left The Door And Came Up To The Table,  Where Tom Robson Made

Room For Him,  And At The Same Time Offered Him A Drink From His Mug.

 

"Thanks,  Mr. Robson," Said Begmand,  As He Put The Mug To His Lips.

 

Tom Robson Was Not Only The Chairman,  But At The Same Time The Host Of

The Company,  For It Was He Who Paid For The Liquor. By His Side On The

Bench He Kept A Bottle Of Rum,  From Which He Every Now And Then Poured

Out A Glass For Each. He Generally Put A Good Drop Of Rum Into His Own

Beer,  "To Kill The Insects," He Said. He Was Now Occupied In cutting Up

Some Cake Tobacco To Fill His Pipe.

 

"Beautiful Tobacco That,  Mr. Robson," Said Begmand.

 

"Take A Bit," Answered Tom,  Good Naturedly.

 

"Thanks,  Mr. Robson," Said The Old Man,  Overjoyed,  As He Took Out His

Chapter 6 Pg 41

Pipe,  The Stem Of Which Was Not More Than Half An Inch Long,  While The

Whole Was As Black As Everything Else Which Belonged To Anders.

 

He Pressed Down The Moist Tobacco As Hard As He Could,  In The Hope Of

Getting As Much As Would Last For A Day Or Two; He Then Picked Up A

Burning Ember From The Turf Fire,  Which He Applied To The Bowl.

 

It Was No Easy Matter To Get The Tobacco To Light,  But The Smoke,  When

It Began To Draw,  Seemed Warm And Comforting To The Old Man. He Sat

There,  Crouching On The Edge Of The Bench,  Eagerly Watching Tom Each

Time He Passed Him The Mug,  And Not Forgetting To Say "Thank You,  Mr.

Robson," Before He Took His Drink.

 

Martin Grew More And More Violent. "Isn'T It Enough," He Yelled,  "For Us

To Work Ourselves To Death For These Creatures? Are They Going To Watch

Every Bit We Eat,  And Every Drop We Drink? Just Look At Their Houses!

Look How They Live Up There! Who Has Got All That For Them? We,  I Tell

You,  Grandfather; We Who Have Been Toiling Here Fishing,  And Going To

Sea Year After Year,  Son After Father,  In Storm And Tempest,  Watching

Night After Night In Wind And Snow,  So As To Bring Back Wealth For These

Wretches! Just Look What We Get For It All! What A Pig-Stye We Live In!

And Even That Does Not Belong To Us. Nothing Does! It All Belongs To

Them--Clothes,  Food,  And Drink,  Body And Soul,  House And Home,  Every

Bit!"

 

Begmand Sat Rocking Himself To And Fro,  And Drawing Hard At His Pipe.

Woodlouse Saw That There Was A Pause,  And So Began Again.

 

"Property Is Robbery--"

 

But Martin Would Not Let Him Continue. "There Is No One In The Whole

World," He Shouted,  "Who Puts Up With What We Do! Why Don'T We Go Up And

Say,  'Share With Us,  We Who Have Done All The Work'? There Has Been

Enough Of This Blood-Sucking! But No; We Are Not A Bit Better Than A Lot

Of Old Women; Not One Of Us! They Would Never Put Up With That Sort Of

Thing In america."

 

"Ha! Ha! Good Again!" Laughed Tom Robson. "I Dare Say You Think People

Are Willing To Share Like Brothers In america? No,  My Boy; You Would

Soon Find Out You Were Wrong."

 

"Do You Mean To Tell Me That Workmen In america Live Like We Do?" Asked

Martin,  Somewhat Abashed.

 

"No; But They Do What You Can'T Do," Answered Tom.

 

"What Do They Do?" Asked Martin.

 

"They Work; And That Is What You And No One Else Does Here!" Shouted

Tom,  Bringing His Fist Down Heavily On The Table. He Was Beginning To

Feel The Effects Of The Rum.

 

"What'S That About Work? Do You Mean To Say--?" Began The Swede.

 

"Hold Your Jaw!" Cried Tom. "Let The Old Un Have His Say!"

 

"You Are Quite Wrong,  Martin," Said Begmand,  And This Time Without

Stammering. The Watery Look Of His Old Eyes Told That The Beer Was

Chapter 6 Pg 42

Beginning To Work. "It'S Shameful Of You To Talk Like That About The

Firm. They Have Given Both Your Father And Your Grandfather Certain

Employment; And You Might Have Had The Same If You Had Behaved Yourself.

The Old Consul Was The First Man In The Whole World,  And The Young

Consul Is A Glorious Fellow Too. Here'S His Health!"

 

"Oh!" Broke In Martin,  "I Don'T Know What You Are Talking About,

Grandfather. I Don'T See That You Have Got Much To Boast Of. What About

My Father,  And Uncle Svend,  And Uncle Reinert,--Every One Lost In The

Consul'S Ships; And What Have You Got By It All? Two Empty Hands,  And

Just As Much Food As Will Keep Body And Soul Together. Or Perhaps You

Think," Continued He,  With A Fiendish Laugh,  "That We Have Some

Connection With The Family Because Of Marianne!"

 

"Martin,  It'S--It'S--" Began The Old Man,  His Face Crimsoning Up To The

Very Roots Of His Hair,  And Struggling Vainly With His Infirmity.

 

"Have A Drink,  Old Un," Said Tom,  Good Naturedly,  Handing Begmand The

Mug.

 

The Old Man Paused For Breath. "Thanks,  Mr. Robson," Said He,  Taking A

Long Breath.

 

Tom Robson Made Signs To The Others To Leave Him Alone. Begmand Put His

Pipe Into His Waistcoat Pocket,  Got Up,  And Went Into The Little Room By

The Kitchen,  Where He Slept. The Unwonted Drink Had Roused Again The

Fire Of His Youth,  And Never Had He Felt His Helplessness So Keenly As

He Did That Evening.

 

The Others Still Sat Drinking Till There Was No More,  And The Lamp Began

To Grow Dim As The Oil Gave Out. Then They Staggered Off; Woodlouse Away

Through West End,  While Tom Clambered Up A Steep Path That Led Over The

Hill At The Back Of Begmand'S Cottage. He Lived With A Widow In a Small

House Near The Farm Buildings Of Sandsgaard.

 

Torpander Went With Robson,  Because He Was Afraid To Go Through West End

Alone,  And Because He Wanted To Have A Last Glance At Marianne'S Window,

Which Looked On To The Hillside.

 

Martin Shut The Door After Them,  And Managed To Lift Up The Lid Of A

Sort Of Locker In Which He Was Going To Sleep. He Did Not See That There

Were Some Empty Bottles On The Locker,  And They Rolled Down On The

Floor,  And One Of Them Was Broken Against The Spittoon. The Lid Slipped

Out Of His Hand,  And,  Without Trying To Undress,  He Let Himself Fall

Just As He Was Into The Bedclothes.

 

The Last Remaining Drop Of Oil In The Lamp Was Now Gone,  And The Last

Blue Flame Flickered Up Through The Chimney And Was Quenched. Then

Followed A Thick Grey Smoke,  Which Came Curling Up From The Still

Glowing Wick,  And Wreathed Itself In Graceful Spirals Through The Glass

And Glided Out Into The Room,  Until It Looked Like A Maze Of Fairy

Threads In The Faint Light From The Window.

 

Nothing Was Heard But The Sound Of Heavy Breathing. The Old Man'S

Respiration Was Short And Broken,  While Martin,  After Turning Over A Few

Times,  Lay Quiet,  And At Length Began To Snore. Before Long He Started