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Updated: June 19, 2025
But everything in its place Well, I must not detain you! Au revoir Thursday!" Milde saluted with his cane, turned, and strolled up the street. Ojen continued alone. He proved a few moments afterward that he had not lost all his interest in human beings; he had calumniated himself.
A little childish, perhaps; a little immature, but He, he! as we were sitting there that evening he suddenly exclaimed: 'Do you know, gentlemen, why I use a capital R in God? 'A capital R in God! we wondered and looked at each other blankly; no; we did not know why. But Ojen burst into a peal of laughter and left It was a good joke; it wasn't at all bad, he, he!" And Coldevin smiled.
Conversation strayed to the government art subsidies. Irgens listened without changing a feature when Milde asserted that Ojen was the worthiest applicant. It was exceedingly generous in Milde to express such views; he himself had applied and needed the money as much as anybody. Irgens could hardly understand it. Interest in the preposterous tutor had entirely waned.
He knew Torahus; he gave Ojen a hint about visiting the house of the county judge, which was a mile away. He had only to row across a lake; pine woods all around the house looked like a little white marble palace in the green surroundings. "How do you know all this?" asked Irgens, quite surprised to hear Ole speak. "I went through there on a walking trip," answered Ole, embarrassed.
Yes, indeed, we had quite a number of writers, it could not be denied "There came to Torahus, for instance, one of them before I left; his name was Stefan Ojen. I have read two of his books. He was nervous, he told me; he spoke a good deal about a new school, a new intention within the realm of literature. His clothes were silk lined, but he did not put himself forward much.
As he turns toward the fortress he meets a man he seems to know; they both stop. "Pardon me, but haven't we met before?" asks Ojen politely. The stranger answers with a smile: "Yes, on Torahus. We spent an evening together." "Of course; your name is Coldevin. I thought I knew you. How are you?" "Oh, so so But are you abroad so early?" "Well, to tell the truth, I haven't been to bed yet."
"Oh well, I won't detain you," says Milde. "By the way, have you written anything lately?" "A couple of prose poems," replies Ojen, brightening at once. "I am waiting to get off to Torahus so I can start in in earnest. You are right this town is unbearable!" "Well I had the whole country in mind, though Say, don't forget next Thursday evening in my studio.
It is twelve before people begin to group themselves on the "corner," young and carefree gentlemen who can afford to sleep late and do what they feel like. There are a few from the well-known clique, Milde and Norem and Ojen. It is cold, and they are shivering. The conversation is not very lively.
His excursion had certainly been fruitful in results. "You haven't heard my very latest poem, though," said Ojen in a weak voice; "it has an Egyptian subject; the action takes place in an ancient tomb " And, sick and miserable as he was, he looked through all his pockets for this poem. What could have become of it?
Hardly had Ojen stepped ashore before he called a cab. He was in a hurry to get home and find his manuscript or learn the worst. He could not rest until he knew his fate. But perhaps he would meet the company later on. Would they be at Sara's? They looked at each other uncertainly and did not know what to say.
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