Elsie remained sitting and listening half abstractedly to the well-known voice and the well-known promises. But all at once there was a tumult over at the table; the tinker arose and swore and everybody looked at Puppelena more or less angrily—as he dared.
In short, it was so far from her having anything to banquet on, that on the contrary, she had hunted them up to get something to keep Christmas with—indeed, she had shared with them often enough.
She turned her big, heavy face around toward the men and said contemptuously:
“It’s brave fellows you are! Not so much as a bottle of ale for blessed Christmas! Fie, for shame!”
They were non-plussed. The tinker muttered something about the hard times, Jorgen Tambur looked up at the ceiling, and even Olkonomen let his underlip hang idly; in so serious a situation he did not dare to mention the message he had just sent.
Only the man with the many faces retained his smile. He sat close beside Puppelena and chewed raisins and nuts and threw the shells across the table.
Elsie knew him better now than when he frightened her with his grimaces. In many places, she had caught sight of him; he came and disappeared and no one seemed to notice him. But she knew that he had escaped from the prison at Akershus, and that he had staid out now for more than two years without the police being able to find him. They called him the mechanic because he was so expert at picking locks.
He now said to Puppelena, with a familiar nod:
“Yes, you are right there. People who have two strong arms, and eyes to see with, and yet can’t get what they want on such a day—such folks I wouldn’t give much for.”
“What have you, then?” demanded the tinker.