Pelle the Conqueror, Martin Andersen Nexø [best fantasy books to read .TXT] 📗

prison! Now, hunger is yet another human virtue, which is often practised until men die of it⁠—for the profit of those who hoard wealth. They pat the poor, brave man on the back because he’s so obedient to the law. What more can he want?”

“Yes, devil take it, of course it’s all topsy-turvy,” replied Stolpe. “But that’s precisely the reason why⁠—No, no, you won’t persuade me, my young friend! You seem to me a good deal too ‘red.’ It wouldn’t do! Now I’ve been concerned in the movement from the very first day, and no one can say that Stolpe is afraid to risk his skin; but that way wouldn’t suit me. We have always held to the same course, and everything that we have won we have taken on account.”

“Yes, that’s true,” interrupted Frau Stolpe. “When I look back to those early years and then consider these I can scarcely believe it’s true. Then it was all we could do to find safe shelter, even among people of our own standing; they annoyed us in every possible way, and hated father because he wasn’t such a sheep as they were, but used to concern himself about their affairs. Every time I went out of the kitchen door I’d find a filthy rag of dishcloth hung over the handle, and they smeared much worse things than that over the door⁠—and whose doing was it? I never told father; he would have been so enraged he would have torn the whole house down to find the guilty person. No, father had enough to contend against already. But now: ‘Ah, here comes Stolpe⁠—Hurrah! Long live Stolpe! One must show respect to Stolpe, the veteran!’ ”

“That may be all very fine,” muttered Albert Olsen, “but the slater, he climbs the highest.” He was sitting with sunken head, staring angrily before him.

“To be sure he climbs highest,” said the women. “No one says he doesn’t.”

“Leave him alone,” said Otto; “he’s had a drop too much!”

“Then he should take a walk in the fresh air and not sit there and make himself disagreeable,” said Madam Stolpe, with a good deal of temper.

The Vanishing Man rose with an effort. “Do you say a walk in the fresh air, Madam Stolpe? Yes, if anyone can stand the air, by God, it’s Albert Olsen. Those big-nosed masons, what can they do?” He stood with bent head, muttering angrily to himself. “Yes, then we’ll take a walk in the fresh air. I don’t want to have anything to do with your fools’ tricks.” He staggered out through the kitchen door.

“What’s he going to do there?” cried Madam Stolpe, in alarm.

“Oh, he’ll just go down into the yard and turn himself inside out,” said Otto. “He’s a brilliant fellow, but he can’t carry much.”

Pelle, still sitting at table, had been drawing with a pencil on a scrap of paper while the others were arguing. Ellen leaned over his shoulder watching him. He felt her warm breath upon his ear and smiled happily as he used his pencil. Ellen took the drawing when he had finished and pushed it across the table to the others. It showed a thickset figure of a man, dripping with sweat, pushing a wheelbarrow which supported his belly. “Capitalism⁠—when the rest of us refuse to serve him any longer!” was written below. This drawing made a great sensation. “You’re a deuce of a chap!” cried Stolpe. “I’ll send that to the editor of the humorous page⁠—I know him.”

“Yes, Pelle,” said Lasse proudly, “there’s nothing he can’t do; devil knows where he gets it from, for he doesn’t get it from his father.” And they all laughed.

Carpenter Stolpe’s good lady sat considering the drawing with amazement, quite bewildered, looking first at Pelle’s fingers and then at the drawing again. “I can understand how people can say funny things with their mouths,” she said, “but with their fingers⁠—that I don’t understand. Poor fellow, obliged to push his belly in front of him! It’s almost worse than when I was going to have Victor.”

“Cousin Victor, her youngest, who is so deucedly clever,” said Otto, in explanation, giving Pelle a meaning wink.

“Yes, indeed he is clever, if he is only six months old. The other day I took him downstairs with me when I went to buy some milk. Since then he won’t accept his mother’s left breast any more. The rascal noticed that the milkman drew skim milk from the left side of the cart and full-cream milk from the tap on the right side. And another time⁠—”

“Now, mother, give over!” said Carpenter Stolpe; “don’t you see they’re sitting laughing at you? And we ought to see about getting home presently.” He looked a trifle injured.

“What, are you going already?” said Stolpe. “Why, bless my soul, it’s quite late already. But we must have another song first.”

“It’ll be daylight soon,” said Madam Stolpe; she was so tired that she was nodding.

When they had sung the Socialist marching song, the party broke up. Lasse had his pockets filled with sweets for the three orphans.

“What’s become of the Vanishing Man?” said Otto suddenly.

“Perhaps he’s been taken bad down in the yard,” said Stolpe. “Run down and see, Frederick.” They had quite forgotten him.

Frederik returned and announced that Albert Olsen was not in the yard⁠—and the gate was locked.

“Surely he can’t have gone on the roof?” said one. They ran up the back stairs; the door of the loft was open, and the skylight also.

Otto threw off his coat and swung himself up through the opening. On the extreme end of the ridge of the roof sat Albert Olsen, snoring.

He was leaning against the edge of the party-wall, which projected upward about eighteen inches. Close behind him was empty space.

“For God’s sake don’t call him,” said Mother Stolpe, under her breath; “and catch hold of him before he wakes.”

But Otto went straight up to his comrade. “Hullo, mate! Time’s up!” he cried.

“Righto!” said the Vanisher, and he rose to his feet. He stood