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Updated: May 21, 2025
When they returned to Jutland and the sand-hills, and told all that had passed, it was remarked that Jörgen might boil over, but he was an honest pot for all that. "But not of Jutland manufacture he cannot be called a Jutlander," was Morten's witty reply. They were both young and healthy, well-grown, and strongly built, but Jörgen was the most active.
Wooden-leg Larsen said that the word, as they had used it, had nothing to do with God; it was an earthly thing; across the water people used it to drive machinery, instead of horses. "I should think woman is the greatest power," said Baker Jorgen, "for women rule the world, God knows they do! And God protect us if they are once let loose on us!
And she can't properly control herself any longer, now that she claims to have a word in the matter. Are you going to put up with that? Go and take her round the waist strike her if you can't put up with her, but make her feel that you're a man!" "Well, are you working up there?" old Jorgen cried to the boys, turning his laughing countenance from Marie. "Tread away!
"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."
Yonder, in the workshop, where Baker Jorgen and the rest sat and gossiped, he could see nothing but dancing specks of light, and his work swam round in the midst of them; and of his comrades he saw nothing but their aprons. But in the glass ball the light was like a living fire, in whose streams a world was laboring.
The big baker twisted himself dolefully. "It must be dreadful with gout like that," said Bjerregrav. "I myself have never had it." "Tailors don't get gout," rejoined Baker Jorgen scornfully. "A tailor's body has no room to harbor it. So much I do know twelve tailors go to a pound." Bjerregrav did not reply. "The tailors have their own topsy-turvy world," continued the baker.
"Oh! then I would take Morten, of course; but one can't live upon love." And Jörgen reflected for the whole night over what had passed. There was something in him he could not himself account for; but he had one idea it overpowered his love for Elsé, and it led him to Morten.
Now she came rushing back, turning her head confusedly from house to house as she scampered across the street and into her house. The blue smoke drifted down among the houses; the sun fell lower and filled the street with gold-dust. There were people sweeping all along the street; Baker Jorgen, the washerwoman, and the Comptroller's maid-servant.
I ask you about the new time, O God the Father!" he repeated. Two weary stevedores were going homeward. "He'll drive all poverty out of the world and give us all a new life that's the form his madness takes," said one of them, with a dreary laugh. "Then he's got the millennium on the brain?" said the other. "No, he's just snarling at the world," said old Jorgen, behind them.
He and Jörgen left the fishing, and they both hired themselves on board a vessel bound to Norway, and went afterwards to Holland. They were always at odds with each other, but that might easily happen when people were rather warm-tempered; and they could not help showing their feelings sometimes in expressive gestures.
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