“Then it will be about three o’clock at the town hall,” said the master, shortly, and he turned red about the eyes.
Suddenly Pelle felt how obstinacy must pain the young master, who, lame and sick as he was, had of his own accord gone running about the town for him. “Yes, I’ll do it!” he said; “I’ll do it!”
“Yes, yes!” replied Master Andres quietly; “for your own sake as well. And I believe you ought to be getting ready now.”
Pelle slunk away; it was not his intention to apologize, and he had plenty of time. He walked as though asleep; everything was dead within him. His thoughts were busy with all sorts of indifferent matters, as though he sought to delay something by chattering; Crazy Anker went by with his bag of sand on his back, his thin legs wobbling under him. “I will help him to carry it,” thought Pelle dejectedly, as he went onward; “I will help him to carry it.”
Alfred came strolling down the street; he was carrying his best walking-stick and was wearing gloves, although it was in the midst of working hours. “If he sees me now he’ll turn down the corner by the coal-merchant’s,” thought Pelle bitterly. “Oughtn’t I to ask him to say a good word for me? He is such an important person! And he still owes me money for soling a pair of boots.”
But Alfred made straight for him. “Have you seen anything of Albinus? He has disappeared!” he said; and his pretty face seemed somehow unusually moved. He stood there chewing at his moustache, just as fine folk do when they are musing over something.
“I’ve got to go to the town hall,” said Pelle.
“Yes, I know—you’ve got to be flogged. But don’t you know anything of Albinus?” Alfred had drawn him into the coal-merchant’s doorway, in order not to be seen in his company.
“Yes, Albinus, Albinus—” Something was dawning in Pelle’s mind. “Wait a minute—he—he—I’m sure he has run away with the circus. At least, I believe he has!” Whereat Alfred turned about and ran— ran in his best clothes!
Of course Albinus had run away with the circus. Pelle could understand the whole affair perfectly well. The evening before he had slipped on board Ole Hansen’s yacht, which during the night was to have taken the trick-rider across to Sweden, and now he would live a glorious life and do what he liked. To run away—that was the only clear opening in life. Before Pelle knew it, he was down by the harbor, staring at a ship which was on the point of sailing. He followed up his inspiration, and went about inquiring after a vacancy on board some vessel, but there was none.