Lasse and Pelle carried the last things over to the new home, and put everything tidy; then they dressed themselves in their best and set out for the Stoples’ home. Pelle was wearing a top-hat for the first time in his life, and looked quite magnificent in it. “You are like a big city chap,” said Lasse, who could not look at him often enough. “But what do you think they’ll say of old Lasse? They are half-way fine folks themselves, and I don’t know how to conduct myself. Wouldn’t it perhaps be better if I were to turn back?”
“Don’t talk like that, father!” said Pelle.
Lasse was monstrously pleased at the idea of attending the wedding- feast, but he had all sorts of misgivings. These last years had made him shy of strangers, and he liked to creep into corners. His holiday clothes, moreover, were worn out, and his every-day things were patched and mended; his long coat he had hired expressly for the occasion, while the white collar and cuffs belonged to Peter. He did not feel at all at home in his clothes, and looked like an embarrassed schoolboy waiting for confirmation.
At the Stolpes’ the whole household was topsy-turvy. The guests who were to go to the church had already arrived; they were fidgeting about in the living-room and whistling to themselves, or looking out into the street, and feeling bored. Stople’s writing-table had been turned into a side-board, and the brothers were opening bottles of beer and politely pressing everybody: “Do take a sandwich with it—you’ll get a dry throat standing so long and saying nothing.”
In the best room Stolpe was pacing up and down and muttering. He was in his shirtsleeves, waiting until it was his turn to use the bedroom, where Ellen and her mother had locked themselves in. Prom time to time the door was opened a little, and Ellen’s bare white arm appeared, as she threw her father some article of attire. Then Pelle’s heart began to thump.
On the window-sill stood Madam Stolpe’s myrtle; it was stripped quite bare.
Now Stolpe came back; he was ready! Pelle had only to button his collar for him. He took Lasse’s hand and then went to fetch The Working Man. “Now you just ought to hear this, what they say of your son,” he said, and began to read:
“Our young party-member, Pelle, to-day celebrates his nuptials with the daughter of one of the oldest and most respected members of the party, Mason Stolpe. This young man, who has already done a great deal of work for the Cause, was last night unanimously proposed as President of his organization. We give the young couple our best wishes for the future.”
“That speaks for itself, eh?” Stolpe handed the paper to his guests.
“Yes, that looks well indeed,” they said, passing the paper from hand to hand. Lasse moved his lips as though he, too, were reading the notice through. “Yes, devilish good, and they know how to put these things,” he said, delighted.