Pelle the Conqueror, vol 3 | Page 9

the
trade union. I shan't stand still and look on when there's anything big to

be done."
Morten nodded, faintly smiling. He was tired now, and hardly heard
what Pelle was saying. "I must go to bed now so that I can get up at one.
But where do you live? I'll come and see you some time. How queer it
is that we should have run across one another here!"
"I live out in Kristianshavn--in the 'Ark,' if you know where that is!"
"That's a queer sort of house to have tumbled into! I know the 'Ark'
very well, it's been so often described in the papers. There's all sorts of
people live there!"
"I don't know anything about that," said Pelle, half offended. "I like the
people well enough.... But it's capital that we should have run into one
another's arms like this! What bit of luck, eh? And I behaved like a
clown and kept out of your way? But that was when I was going to the
dogs, and hated everybody! But now nothing's going to come between
us again, you may lay to that!"
"That's good, but now be off with you," replied Morten, smiling; he
was already half-undressed.
"I'm going, I'm going!" said Pelle, and he picked up his hat, and stood
for a moment gazing out over the city. "But it's magnificent, what you
were saying about things just now!" he cried suddenly. "If I had the
strength of all us poor folks in me, I'd break out right away and conquer
the whole of it! If such a mass of wealth were shared out there'd never
be any poverty any more!" He stood there with his arms uplifted, as
though he held it all in his hands. Then he laughed uproariously. He
looked full of energy. Morten lay half asleep, staring at him and saying
nothing. And then he went.
Pipman scolded Pelle outrageously when at last he returned. "Curse it
all, what are you thinking of? To go strolling about and playing the
duke while such as we can sit here working our eyes out of our heads!
And we have to go thirsty too! Now don't you dream of being insolent
to me, or there'll be an end of the matter. I am excessively annoyed!"
He held out his hand in pathetic expostulation, although Pelle had no
intention of answering him. He no longer took Pipman seriously.
"Devil fry me, but a man must sit here and drink the clothes off his
body while a lout like you goes for a stroll!"
Pelle was standing there counting the week's earnings when he
suddenly burst into a loud laugh as his glance fell upon Pipman. His

blue naked shanks, miserably shivering under his leather apron, looked
so enormously ridiculous when contrasted with the fully-dressed body
and the venerable beard.
"Yes, you grin!" said Pipman, laughing too. "But suppose it was you
had to take off your trousers in front of the old clothes' man, and
wanted to get upstairs respectably! Those damned brats! 'Pipman's got
D. T.,' they yell. 'Pipman's got D. T. And God knows I haven't got D. T.,
but I haven't got any trousers, and that's just the trouble! And these
accursed open staircases! Olsen's hired girl took the opportunity, and
you may be sure she saw all there was to see! You might lend me your
old bags!"
Pelle opened his green chest and took out his work-day trousers.
"You'd better put a few more locks on that spinach-green lumber-chest
of yours," said Pipman surlily. "After all, there might be a thief here,
near heaven as we are!"
Pelle apparently did not hear the allusion, and locked the chest up again.
Then, his short pipe in his hand, he strolled out on to the platform.
Above the roofs the twilight was rising from the Sound. A few doves
were flying there, catching the last red rays of the sun on their white
pinions, while down in the shaft the darkness lay like a hot lilac mist.
The hurdy-gurdy man had come home and was playing his evening
tune down there to the dancing children, while the inhabitants of the
"Ark" were gossiping and squabbling from gallery to gallery. Now and
again a faint vibrating note rose upward, and all fell silent. This was the
dwarf Vinslev, who sat playing his flute somewhere in his den deep
within the "Ark." He always hid himself right away when he played,
for at such times he was like a sick animal, and sat quaking in his lair.
The notes of his flute were so sweet, as they came trickling out of his
hiding place, that they seemed like a song or a lament from another
world. And the restless creatures in the