was out a little late ... the
door-key." Once more my thoughts ran without rein in intricate paths. I
was continually conscious that I talked at random, and yet I gave
utterance to no word without hearing and understanding it. I said to
myself, "Now you are talking at random again," and yet I could not help
myself. It was as if one were lying awake, and yet talking in one's
sleep.

My head was light, without pain and without pressure, and my mood was
unshadowed. It sailed away with me, and I made no effort.

"Come in! Yes, only come right in! As you see everything is of
ruby--Ylajali, Ylajali! that swelling crimson silken divan! Ah, how
passionately she breathes. Kiss me--loved one--more--more! Your arms
are like pale amber, your mouth blushes.... Waiter I asked for a plate
of beef!"

The sun gleamed in through the window, and I could hear the horses
below chewing oats. I sat and mumbled over my chip gaily, glad at heart
as a child.

I kept all the time feeling for my manuscript. It wasn't really in my
thoughts, but instinct told me it was there--'twas in my blood to
remember it, and I took it out.

It had got wet, and I spread it out in the sun to dry; then I took to
wandering up and down the room. How depressing everything looked! Small
scraps of tin shavings were trodden into the floor; there was not a
chair to sit upon, not even a nail in the bare walls. Everything had
been brought to my "Uncle's," and consumed. A few sheets of paper lying
on the table, covered with thick dust, were my sole possession; the old
green blanket on the bed was lent to me by Hans Pauli some months
ago.... Hans Pauli! I snap my fingers. Hans Pauli Pettersen shall help
me! He would certainly be very angry that I had not appealed to him at
once. I put on my hat in haste, gather up the manuscript, thrust it
into my pocket, and hurry downstairs.

"Listen, Jens Olaj!" I called into the stable, "I am nearly certain I
can help you in the afternoon."

Arrived at the Town Hall I saw that it was past eleven, and I
determined on going to the editor at once. I stopped outside the office
door to see if my sheets were paged rightly, smoothed them carefully
out, put them back in my pocket, and knocked. My heart beat audibly as
I entered.

"Scissors" is there as usual. I inquire timorously for the editor. No
answer. The man sits and probes for minor items of news amongst the
provincial papers.

I repeat my question, and advance a little farth