remarked what work each was supposed to have in hand, and would run
over it all. "What day's this--Thursday? Damnation take it! Tell
that Jens he's to put aside Manna's uppers and begin on the pilot's
boots this moment--they were promised for last Monday." The master
would struggle miserably to get his breath: "Ah, I've had a bad
night, Pelle, a horrible night; I was so hot, with such a ringing
in my ears. New blood is so devilishly unruly; it's all the time
boiling in my head like soda-water. But it's a good thing I'm making
it, God knows; I used to be so soon done up. Do you believe in Hell?
Heaven, now, that's sheer nonsense; what happiness can we expect
elsewhere if we can't be properly happy here? But do you believe in
Hell? I dreamed I'd spat up the last bit of my lungs and that I went
to Hell. 'What the devil d'you want here, Andres?' they asked me;
'your heart is still whole!' And they wouldn't have me. But what
does that signify? I can't breathe with my heart, so I'm dying.
And what becomes of me then? Will you tell me that?

"There's something that bids a man enter again into his mother's
womb; now if only a man could do that, and come into the world again
with two sound legs, you'd see me disappear oversea double-quick,
whoop! I wouldn't stay messing about here any longer.... Well, have
you seen your navel yet to-day? Yes, you ragamuffin, you laugh; but
I'm in earnest. It would pay you well if you always began the day
by contemplating your navel."

The master was half serious, half jesting. "Well, now, you can fetch
me my port wine; it's on the shelf, behind the box with the laces in
it. I'm deadly cold."

Pelle came back and announced that the bottle was empty. The master