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Updated: May 24, 2025
"Now, Bjerregrav, have you tried it you know what since we last saw you?" Bjerregrav turned crimson. "I am content with the experience which the dear God has chosen for me," he answered, with blinking eyes. "Would you believe it, he is over seventy and doesn't know yet how a woman is made!" "Because, after all I find it suits me best to live alone, and then there's my club foot."
And you are always studying, aren't you? I suppose you have read nearly all the books in the world?" Bjerregrav took the master's book and felt it thoroughly. "That's a good book," he said, striking his knuckles against the cover and holding the book to his ear; "good material, that. Is it a lying story or a history book?" "It's a travel book.
"Well, you are a rare bird, aren't you?" he would cry, when Bjerregrav reached the landing and swung himself sideways through the door; and the old man would laugh he had paid this visit daily now for many years.
"Yes, now they're on you!" said Jeppe, as one announcing disaster. "You've all been trifling with the new spirit of the times. This would have been something for Bjerregrav to see him with his compassion for the poor!" "Let the tailor rest in peace in his grave," said Wooden-leg Larsen, in a conciliatory tone. "You mustn't blame him for the angry masses that exist to-day.
It looks so red to me if only we don't have a severe winter, with the soil frozen and dear fuel for all the poor people." Bjerregrav sighed. "You mustn't look at the moon so much. Skipper Andersen came by his accident simply because he slept on deck and the moon shone right in his face; now he has gone crazy!" Yesterday evening just the same as always and now dead!
"And I've heard it's nothing here to what it is on the mainland," said Baker Jorgen. "There the unemployed are numbered in tens of thousands." "How can they live, all those thousands of poor people, if the unemployment is so great?" asked Bjerregrav. "The need is bad enough here in town, where every employer provides his people with their daily bread."
"There are many funny things in the world," stammered Bjerregrav. "When my brother died, my watch stopped at that very moment it was he who gave it me."
"Suppose Bjerregrav has just sat himself down in the nettles?" "Why? But what else could I have done?" said the old man uneasily. "The devil knows it won't be long before he's bankrupt. He's a frothy old rogue," murmured the master. "Has Bjerregrav got a note of hand?" The old man nodded; he was quite proud of himself. "And interest? Five per cent.?" "No, no interest.
Pelle was not quite sure that the journeyman had noticed this. "Bjerregrav has forgotten " "Hold your jaw." Little Nikas made a movement backward, and Pelle ducked his head and pressed his hand tightly to his mouth. Over in Staal Street there was a great uproar; an enormously fat woman was standing there quarrelling with two seamen. She was in her nightcap and petticoat, and Pelle knew her.
It looks so red to me if only we don't have a severe winter, with the soil frozen and dear fuel for all the poor people." Bjerregrav sighed. "You mustn't look at the moon so much. Skipper Andersen came by his accident simply because he slept on deck and the moon shone right in his face; now he has gone crazy!" Yesterday evening just the same as always and now dead!
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