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I think I could have got a job in his father's shop but anyhow, I'm looking for a job now." "Are you? I hope you'll find a good one." "That's just the point. But I'm not getting any job at all. That is, I shall in the end, of course, but well, for instance, in old Flaten's shop I shouldn't fit in there." "Not very good pay either, I expect?" "I'm sure it's not.
"Yes, but what about him; what does he do?" "I don't know if he does anything special; he just studies. His father's so rich, you know." I recalled old Flaten's shop in Almes Street, a good, solid countryman's shop; in the mornings the yard was always full of horses, while the owners were busy making purchases in the shop. "He's such a man of the world," she went on.
When they had done, they put some banknotes over the night watchman's mouth and tied a handkerchief over them. Then they went back to the dining room. The supper was served. Flaten's plate was a red silk bedroom slipper lined with glass. They ate and drank and rollicked as long as they had the strength; the hours passed, and dawn approached. Then Flaten began to distribute souvenirs among them.
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