Almost A Necessity, For He Had The Special Gift Of Knowing The Contents
Of Every Paper, And The Name Of Every Single Person Who For Years Had
Sought Information At The Office. He Could Stand In The Middle Of The
Room And Point To The Different Shelves, And Say, Apparently Without
Effort, What Each Contained, And What Was Missing. He Had Thus Gone Down
As A Kind Of Living Inventory From Magistrate To Magistrate, And As His
Special Knowledge Increased He Endeavoured To Get His Salary Raised, So
That He Might Give Himself Up Recklessly To His Two Ruling Passions,
Which Were Drinking Beer And Reading Novels At Night.
As Marianne Went Through The Room She Moved Her Grandfather'S Chair
Close To The Kitchen Door, And Gave Him A Meaning Look. He Nodded To
Show That He Understood Her Wishes. She Then Said Good Night To The Old
Man, And Went Into The Kitchen, From Whence A Little Dark Staircase Led
Upstairs To Her Room.
Marianne Locked Her Door And Went To Bed. She Was So Tired Every Night
That She Could Scarcely Keep Her Eyes Open While She Undressed, And She
Fell Asleep The Moment She Got Into Bed. Under Her The Noise Of Voices
Continued, Varied By Quarrelling And Cursing, Which Mingled With The
Dreams Of Her Heavy And Broken Slumber. In The Morning Her Hair And
Pillow Were Damp With Perspiration; She Was Chilled With Cold, And Was
Even More Tired Than When She Went To Rest.
The Talking Soon Went On Again As Briskly As Ever. Martin Related How He
Had Been Up To The Office That Morning, Intending To Speak To The Young
Consul Personally. He Wished To Complain Of The Captain Who Had Told
Tales About Him.
He Did Not, However, Get So Far As The Consul, But One Of The Clerks, A
Stupid Lout With An Eyeglass, Had Come Out And Told Him That He Would
Get No Employment On A Ship Belonging To The Firm, Until He Had Been To
The Seamen'S School, And Gave Up Drinking. As He Told His Story There
Was An Evil Glare In His Eyes, Which Were Large And Bright Like
Marianne'S, But Piercing And Cruel. In The Pale Face There Was Also The
Same Trace Of Weakness As In His Sister'S; But Martin Was Tall And Bony,
And His 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
