Jeppe stuck to it that there was something uncanny about it—the idea of a machine making boots was enough to haunt him. He kept on returning to it.
“They’ll be making human beings by machinery too, soon!” he exclaimed angrily.
“No,” said Baker Jörgen; “there, I believe, the old method will survive!”
One day the skipper came in at the workshop door, banged a pair of shoes down on the window-bench, and went out again. They had been bought in England, and belonged to the helmsman of a bark which had just come into the harbor. The young master looked at them, turned them over in his hands, and looked at them again. Then he called Jeppe. They were sewn throughout—shoes for a grown man, yet sewn throughout! Moreover, the factory stamp was under the sole.
In Jeppe’s opinion they were not worth a couple of shillings. But he could not get over the fact that they were machine-made.
“Then we are superfluous,” he said, in a quavering voice. All his old importance seemed to have fallen from him. “For if they can make the one kind on a machine, they can make another. The handicraft is condemned to death, and we shall all be without bread one fine day! Well, I, thank God, have not many years before me.” It was the first time that Jeppe had admitted that he owed his life to God.
Every time he came into the workshop he began to expatiate on the same subject. He would stand there turning the hated shoes over between his hands. Then he would criticize them. “We must take more pains next winter.”
“Father forgets it’s all up with us now,” said the young master wearily.
Then the old man would be silent and hobble out. But after a time he would be back again, fingering the boots and shoes, in order to discover defects in them. His thoughts were constantly directed upon this new subject; no song of praise, no eulogy of his handicraft, passed his lips nowadays. If the young master came to him and asked his help in some difficult situation, he would refuse it; he felt no further desire to triumph over youth with his ancient dexterity, but shuffled about and shrank into himself. “And all that we have thought so highly of—what’s to become of it?” he would ask. “For machines don’t make masterpieces and medal work, so where will real good work come in?”
The young master did not look so far ahead; he thought principally of the money that was needed. “Devil take it, Pelle, how are we going to pay every one, Pelle?” he would ask dejectedly. Little Nikas had to look out for something else; their means would not allow them to keep a journeyman. So Nikas decided to marry, and to set up as a master shoemaker in the north. The shoemaker of the Baptist community had just died, and he could get plenty of customers by joining the sect; he was already attending their services. “But go to work carefully!” said Jeppe. “Or matters will go awry!”