organization, and don't owe anything; you can see for yourselves!" He
pulled out of his breast-pocket a little book in a black leather cover,
and turned over its pages. "Just look for yourselves! Member's
subscription paid, isn't it? Strike subscription paid, isn't it? Shown
on entrance, isn't it? Just you shut up! Take it and pass it round; we
must have our papers in order. You're supporting the election fund, I
suppose? Go up and vote, confound you! The man who won't give his mite
is a poor pal. Who says thief? There's no one here that steals. I'm an
honest, organized--" He suddenly began to weep, and the saliva dropped
from the corners of his mouth onto his coat, while he made fearful
grimaces.

Pelle managed to get him into a courtyard, and washed his wound at the
pump. The cold water made him shiver, and his head lolled weakly. "Such
a snotty blackleg!" he murmured. "I'll get the chairman to give him a
doing in the paper."

Suddenly he recognized Pelle. He started, and consciousness struggled to
obtain control over his dulled senses. "Why, is that you, master?" he
asked shamefacedly, seizing Pelle's hand. "So you've come back! I
suppose you think me a beast, but what can I do?"

"Just come along!" said Pelle sharply, anxious to get away from the
crowd of spectators.

They went down Meinung Street, Jacob staggering along in silence, and
looking askance at his former leader. He walked a little awkwardly, but
it came from his work; the meeting with Pelle had made him almost sober.
"I'm sure you think I'm a beast," he said again at last in a pitiful
voice. "But you see there's no one to keep me straight."