“No, that we shan’t!” said Hanne very decidedly. “No, we’ll fetch the picnic-basket and spread the things on your counterpane! After all, it’s green! But wait now, I know what!” And she slipped through the back door and out on to the roof. Half an hour later she came again and threw a pair of striped trousers on the bed. “He’s obliging, is Herr Klodsmajor! Now just hurry yourself a bit. I ran round to see the hearse-driver’s Marie, where she works, and she gave me a pair of her master’s week-day breeches. But she must have them again early to-morrow morning, so that his lordship doesn’t notice it.”
Directly she had gone Pelle jumped into the trousers. Just as he was ready he heard a terrific creaking of timbers. The Pipman was coming up the stairs. He held the rope in one hand, and at every turn of the staircase he bowed a few times outward over the rope. The women were shrieking in the surrounding galleries and landings. That amused him. His big, venerable head beamed with an expression of sublime joy.
“Ah, hold your tongue!” he said good-naturedly, as soon as he set eyes on Pelle. “You hold your tongue!” He propped himself up in the doorway and stood there staring.
Pelle seized him by the collar. “Where are my Sunday trousers?” he asked angrily. The Pipman had the old ones on, but where were the new?
The Pipman stared at him uncomprehending, his drowsy features working in the effort to disinter some memory or other. Suddenly he whistled. “Trousers, did you say, young man? What, what? Did you really say trousers? And you ask me where your trousers have got to? Then you might have said so at once! Because, d’you see, your bags … I’ve … yes … why, I’ve pawned them!”
“You’ve pawned my best trousers?” cried Pelle, so startled that he loosed his hold.
“Yes, by God, that’s what I did! You can look for yourself—there’s no need to get so hot about it! You can’t eat me, you know. That goes without saying. Yes, that’s about it. One just mustn’t get excited!”
“You’re a scoundrelly thief!” cried Pelle. “That’s what you are!”
“Now, now, comrade, always keep cool! Don’t shout yourself hoarse. Nothing’s been taken by me. Pipman’s a respectable man, I tell you. Here, you can see for yourself! What’ll you give me for that, eh?” He had taken the pawnticket from his pocket and held it out to Pelle, deeply offended.
Pelle fingered his collar nervously; he was quite beside himself with rage. But what was the use? And now Hanne and her mother had come out over yonder. Hanne was wearing a yellow straw hat with broad ribbons. She looked bewitching; the old lady had the lunch-basket on her arm. She locked the door carefully and put the key under the doorstep. Then they set out.