“What of that? He’s seventeen. But there’s nothing in her.”
“She has red hair! And she drags one leg behind her as though she wanted to take the pavement with her,” said Karl. “She might well be his mother.”
“I don’t think you ought to tease him,” said Pelle seriously.
“We don’t,” said Marie. “But he won’t have it when we try to be nice to him. And he can’t bear to see us contented. Lasse says it is as though he were bewitched.”
“I have a situation for you too, Marie,” said Pelle. “With Ellen’s old employers in Holberg Street—you’ll be well treated there. But you must be ready by October.”
“That will be fine! Then Karl and I can go into situations on the same day!” She clapped her hands. “But Peter!” she cried suddenly. “Who will look after him? No, I can’t do it, Pelle!”
“We must see if we can’t find nice lodgings for him. You must take the situation—you can’t go on living here.”
Prom the end of the long gangway came a curious noise, which sounded like a mixture of singing and crying. Young Lasse got down onto his feet near the open door, and said, “Sh! Singing! Sh!”
“Yes! That’s the pasteboard-worker and her great Jutlander,” said Marie. “They’ve got a funeral to-day. The poor little worm has ceased to suffer, thank God!”
“Is that any one new?” said Pelle.