Neither Pelle nor Ellen demanded much of life now. They had settled down in resignation side by side like a pair of carthorses that were accustomed to share manger and toil. It would have been a great thing now to have done with that confounded loan, so that they need not go about with their lives in their hands continually; but even that was requiring too much! All that could be scraped together went every month to the money-lender, and they were no nearer the end. On the one hundred and eighty krones (£10) that Pelle had received they had now in all paid off one hundred and twenty (£7), and yet they still owed two hundred and forty (more than £13). It was the “punishment interest” that made it mount up whenever they came only a day or two too late with the instalments or whatever it might be. In any case it was an endless screw that would go on all their life pumping out whatever they could scrape together into the money-lender’s pocket.
But now Pelle meant to put an end to this. He had not paid the last instalment and meant to pay no more, but let things go as they liked. “You ought to borrow of Herr Brun and pay off that money-lender,” said Ellen, “or else he’ll only come down on us and take our furniture.” But Pelle was obstinate and would not listen to reason. The consciousness that a parasite had fastened upon him and sucked him dry in spite of all his resistance, made him angry. He would like to see them touching his things!
When the money-lender came to fetch his instalment, Pelle shut the door in his face. For the rest he took everything with the calmness of resignation; but when the subject cropped up, he fired up and did not know what he said. Ellen had to keep silence and let his mood work itself out.
One afternoon he sat working at the basement window. The librarian was sitting on the chair by the door, with a child on each knee, feeding them with dates. Pelle was taking no notice, but bent over his work with the expression of a madman who is afraid of being spoken to. His work did not interest him as it had formerly done, and progressed slowly; a disturbing element had entered, and whenever he could not instantly find a tool, he grew angry and threw the things about.
Brun sat watching him anxiously, though apparently taken up with the children. A pitying expression would have made Pelle furious. Brun guessed that there was some money trouble, but dared not offer his assistance; every time he tried to begin a conversation Pelle repelled him with a cunning look which said: “You’re seeking for an opportunity to come with your money, but you won’t get it!” Something or other had gone wrong with him, but it would all come right in the end.
A cab stopped outside the door, and three men stepped out and went into the house. A little while after Ellen burst into the workshop. “Pelle!” she cried, without noticing Brun, “they’ve come to take away our things!” She broke into a fit of weeping, and seeing their mother crying, the children began to cry too.
Pelle rose and seized a hammer. “I’ll soon get them out!” he said between his teeth in a low tone as he moved toward the door. He did not hurry, but went with lowered head, not looking at any one.
Brun seized him by the arm and stopped him.
“You forget that there’s something called Prison!” he said with peculiar emphasis.
Pelle gazed at him in astonishment, and for a moment it looked as if he were going to strike the old man; then the hammer dropped from his hand and he broke down.