Saviour's Cemetery.

I sat down here, with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. In
this cramped position I was more at ease, and I no longer felt the
little gnawing in my chest.

A stone-cutter lay on his stomach on a large slab of granite, at the
side of me, and cut inscriptions. He had blue spectacles on, and
reminded me of an acquaintance of mine, whom I had almost forgotten.

If I could only knock all shame on the head and apply to him. Tell him
the truth right out, that things were getting awfully tight with me
now; ay, that I found it hard enough to keep alive. I could give him my
shaving-tickets.

Zounds! my shaving-tickets; tickets for nearly a shilling. I search
nervously for this precious treasure. As I do not find them quickly
enough, I spring to my feet and search, in a sweat of fear. I discover
them at last in the bottom of my breast-pocket, together with other
papers--some clean, some written on--of no value.

I count these six tickets over many times, backwards and forwards; I
had not much use for them; it might pass for a whim--a notion of
mine--that I no longer cared to get shaved.

I was saved to the extent of sixpence--a white sixpence of Kongsberg
silver. The bank closed at six; I could watch for my man outside the
Opland Cafe between seven and eight.

I sat, and was for a long time pleased with this thought. Time went.
The wind blew lustily through the chestnut trees around me, and the day
declined.

After all, was it not rather petty to come slinking up with six
shaving-tickets to a young gentleman holding a good position in a bank?
Perhaps, he had already a book, maybe two, quite full of spick and span
tickets, a contrast to the crumpled ones I held.

Who could tell? I felt in all my pockets for anything else I could let
go with them, but found nothing. If I could only offer him my tie? I
could well do without it if I buttoned my coat tightly up, which, by
the way, I was already obliged to do, as I had no waistcoat. I untied
it--it was a large overlapping bow which hid half my chest,--brushed it
carefully, and folded it up in a piece of clean white writing-paper,
together with the tickets. Then I left the churchyard and took the road
leading to the Opland.

It was seven by the Town Hall clock. I walked up and down hard by the
cafe, kept close to the iron railings, and kept a sharp watch on all
who went in and came out of the door. At last, about eight o'clock, I
saw the youn