Part 21 (1/2)

Klavs could not understand it, but left it at that: Lars Peter could no longer be bothered to get off the cart to pick up an old horseshoe.

He began whistling and looked out over the landscape to keep his thoughts at bay. Down in the marsh they were cutting ice for the dairies--it was high time too! And the farmer from Gadby was driving off in his best sledge, with his wife by his side. Others could enjoy themselves! If only he had his wife in the cart--driving in to the Capital. There now--he was beginning all over again! Lars Peter looked in the opposite direction, but what good was that. He could not get rid of his thoughts.

A woman came rus.h.i.+ng up the highroad, from a little farm. ”Lars Peter!” she cried. ”Lars Peter!” The nag stopped.

”Are you going to town?” she asked breathlessly, leaning on the cart.

”Ay, that I am,” Lars Peter answered quietly, as if afraid of her guessing his errand.

”Oh! would you mind buying us a chamber?”

”What! you're getting very grand!” Lars Peter's mouth twisted in some semblance of a smile.

”Ay, the child's got rheumatic fever, and the doctor won't let her go outside,” the woman explained excusingly.

”I'll do that for you. How big d'you want it?”

”Well, as we must have it, it might as well be a big one. Here's sixpence, it can't be more than that.” She gave him the money wrapped in a piece of paper, and the nag set off again.

When they had got halfway, Lars Peter turned off to an inn. The horse needed food, and something enlivening for himself would not come amiss. He felt downhearted. He drove into the yard, partly unharnessed, and put on its nosebag.

The fat inn-keeper came to the door, peering out with his small pig's eyes, which were deeply embedded in a huge expanse of flesh, like two raisins in rising dough. ”Why, here comes the rag and bone man from Sand!” he shouted, shaking with laughter. ”What brings such fine company today, I wonder?”

Lars Peter had heard this greeting before, and laughed at it, but today it affected him differently. He had come to the end of his patience. His blood began to rise. The long-suffering, thoughtful, slothful Lars Peter turned his head with a jerk--showing a gleam of teeth. But he checked himself, took off his cape, and spread it over the horse.

”'Tis he for sure,” began the inn-keeper again. ”His lords.h.i.+p of the Crow's Nest, doing us the honor.”

But this time Lars Peter blazed out.

”Hold your mouth, you beer-swilling pig!” he thundered, stepping towards him with his heavy boots, ”or I'll soon close it for you!”

The inn-keeper's open mouth closed with a snap. His small pig's eyes, which almost disappeared when he laughed, opened widely in terror. He turned round and rushed in. When Lars Peter, with a frown on his face, came tramping into the tap-room, he was bustling about, whistling softly with his fat tongue between his teeth and looking rather small.

”A dram and a beer,” growled the rag and bone man, seating himself by the table and beginning to unpack his food.

The inn-keeper came towards him with a bottle and two gla.s.ses. He glanced uncertainly at Lars Peter, and poured out two br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.sfuls. ”Your health, old friend,” said he ingratiatingly. The rag and bone man drank without answering his challenge; he had given the fat lump a fright, and now he was making up to him. It was odd to be able to make people s.h.i.+ver--quite a new feeling. But he rather liked it. And it did him good to give vent to his anger; he had a feeling of well-being after having let off steam. Here sat this insolent landlord trying to curry favor, just because one would not put up with everything. Lars Peter felt a sudden inclination to put his foot upon his neck, and give him a thorough shock. Or bend him over so that head and heels met. Why should he not use his superior strength once in a while? Then perhaps people would treat him with something like respect.

The inn-keeper sank down on a chair in front of him. ”Well, Lars Peter Hansen, so you've become a socialist?” he began, blinking his eyes.

Lars Peter dropped his heavy fist on the table so that everything jumped--the inn-keeper included. ”I'm done with being treated like dirt--do you understand! I'm just as good as you and all the rest of them. And if I hear any more nonsense, then to h.e.l.l with you all.”

”Of course, of course! 'twas only fun, Lars Peter Hansen. And how's every one at home? Wife and children well?” He still blinked whenever Lars Peter moved.

Lars Peter did not answer him, but helped himself to another dram.

The rascal knew quite well all about Sorine.

”D'you know--you should have brought the wife with you. Womenfolk love a trip to town,” the inn-keeper tried again. Lars Peter looked suspiciously at him.

”What d'you mean by this tomfoolery?” he said darkly. ”You know quite well that she's in there.”