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Never for an instant did he regret that he had given such unlimited orders. Journalist Gregersen offered Ole one finger and said: "You have something on your conscience, Ole?" "Oh, nothing sensational, exactly," said Ole. "I had a letter from Ojen; he sends me his latest poem. Do you want to hear it?" "Does he send you his Has he sent you a manuscript?" exclaimed Milde in astonishment.
They are brimful of new intentions, new fashions. They are fragrant with perfume in brief, there is nothing lacking. When they show up everybody else is mute: 'Silence! The poet speaks. The papers are able to inform their readers that Paulsberg is on a trip to Honefos. In a word " But this was too much for Gregersen. He himself had written the news notes about Paulsberg's trip to Honefos.
He was a little offended, but Paulsberg smoothed matters over by saying: "I thank you for the two notices, Gregersen. It is fortunate for us that you keep an eye on us; otherwise people would entirely forget that we writers existed." The Attorney ordered another round. "I am waiting for my wife," said Paulsberg. "She stopped in to borrow a hundred from Ole Henriksen.
He had really drawn a few very funny caricatures and made ruinous fun of the impossible poem. Norem said nothing. Suddenly Lars Paulsberg bobs up; with him is Gregersen. The group is growing; everybody takes notice; so much is gathered here in a very small space. Literature is in the ascendant; literature dominates the entire sidewalk.
"That nasty fellow, Gregersen; he was kicking me on the leg all the time! I am sure I am black and blue! Imagine, Irgens, the cabby knows you!" "You are drunk," said Irgens brutally, and helped her into the carriage. Her hat was awry, she tried to get into her coat and she babbled incoherently. "No, I am not drunk; I am only a little cheerful Won't you see if my leg is bruised?
Paulsberg and his wife arrived; they moved the tables together and formed a circle. Milde stood treat; he still had money left from the first half of the subsidy. Paulsberg attacked Gregersen at once because of the Gazette's change of front. Hadn't he himself, a short time ago, written a rather pointed article in the paper? Had they entirely forgotten that?
If, in spite of everything that had been forecasted, the crops should prove even middling, it does not look any too bright for me and my rye. Rains in Russia now would mean " "Rains are falling now," said Gregersen. "The English papers have been informed of a sufficient rainfall in the larger provinces. Are you selling your rye already?"
"Waiter, the Gazette for to-day!" While they waited for the paper even Milde ventured to say that the reasons were anything but convincing. They consisted of vague vapourings about the easterly boundary, the unpreparedness of the army, even mentioning foreign intervention.... "And fifteen minutes ago you yourself agreed with the Gazette unqualifiedly," said Gregersen.
So she had not wanted company, not even her own husband's; she had been in a sentimental mood? But how could she be so cruel as to let this poor fellow Gregersen ramble home all alone, drunk as he was? It was simply heartless In about a week Ole Henriksen had returned from Torahus. Ojen had remained, but Ole had brought back a young lady, his fiancee, Aagot Lynum.
She went in. Irgens walked up the street. Where should he go now? He might go to Tivoli; there was plenty of time; in fact, it was much too early; he would have to kill an hour or so first. He felt in his pocket for the envelope; he had money; he might as well go to the Grand. As he entered the door he was hailed by Journalist Gregersen, the literary member of the Gazette staff.
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