“Where is Father Lasse?” asked Pelle.
“He has gone out with the hand-cart for the second-hand dealer,” said Marie; “he had to fetch a sofa.” She had taken Young Lasse on her lap and was almost eating him.
Karl put on his fine new clothes, his fresh face beaming with delight. The trousers were fully long enough, but it was quite fashionable to go about with turned-up trousers. That was easily got over.
“Now you look like a real grocer!” said Pelle, laughing.
Karl ran out into the gangway and came back immediately with his head wetted and his hair parted down the middle. “Ach, you fool, why don’t you leave well alone!” cried Marie, ruffling his head. A fight ensued. Peter sat in a corner, self-absorbed, staring gloomily out of the window.
“Now, Peter, hold your head up!” cried Pelle, clapping him on the shoulder. “When we’ve got the great Federation together and things are working properly, I’ll manage something for you too. Perhaps you can act as messenger for us.”
Peter did not reply, but turned his head away.
“He’s always like that—he’s so grumpy! Do at least be a little polite, Peter!” said Marie irritably. The boy took his cap and went out.
“Now he’s going out by the North Bridge, to his sweetheart—and we shan’t see anything of him for the next few days,” said Marie, looking after him. “She’s a factory girl—she’s had a child by one man—he deserted her,” said Marie.
“He has a sweetheart already?” said Pelle.