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Updated: May 5, 2025
The officer on duty repeated constantly to the policeman at his side, "Did he get a ticket? Don't forget to give them tickets; they look as if they wanted a meal!" And I stood and looked at these tickets, and wished I had one. "Andreas Tangen journalist." I advanced and bowed. "But, my dear fellow, how did you come here?"
Sitting on the bed, hat in hand, and with eyes fastened on the gas jet over in the wall, I gave myself up to thinking over the minutes of my first interview with the police. This was the first time, and how hadn't I fooled them? "Journalist! Tangen! if you please! and then Morgenbladet!" Didn't I appeal straight to his heart with Morgenbladet? "We won't mention that! Eh?
Turning to the table this miserable table that I was forced to support with my knees when I wrote I bowed profoundly, and said: "May I ask will you take a glass of wine? No? I am Tangen Tangen, the Cabinet Minister. I more's the pity I was out a little late ... the door-key." Once more my thoughts ran without rein in intricate paths.
Well, good-day! Good-day! My name, by the way, is Tangen; have been out a little late. Some one comes up the stairs. I am recalled at once to reality. I recognize "Scissors," and put the buttons carefully into my pocket. He attempts to pass; doesn't even acknowledge my nod; is suddenly intently busied with his nails. I stop him, and inquire for the editor. "Not in, do you hear."
The dock, the clerk taking down the evidence, the scratch of his pen perhaps he might take a new one for the occasion his look, his threatening look. There, Herr Tangen, to the cell, the eternally dark.... Humph! I clenched my hands tightly to try and summon courage, walked faster and faster, and came to the market-place. There I sat down. Now, no child's play.
Yes, by Jove, that was a capital idea; and I thanked the constable on the spot for the suggestion. Could I simply go in and say I was homeless? "Just that."... "Your name?" inquired the guard. "Tangen Andreas Tangen!" I don't know why I lied; my thoughts fluttered about disconnectedly and inspired me with many singular whims, more than I knew what to do with.
Still in the best of humours, with eyes turned towards the lighter, ever lighter square in the wall, I amused myself acting Cabinet Minister; called myself Von Tangen, and clothed my speech in a dress of red-tape. My fancies had not ceased, but I was far less nervous. If I only had not been thoughtless enough to leave my pocket-book at home!
The guard gave a start before he wrote it down, whilst I stood as important as a homeless Cabinet Minister before the barrier. It roused no suspicions. The guard understood quite well why I hesitated a little before answering. What did it look like to see a journalist in the night guard-house without a roof over his head? "On what paper, Herr Tangen?"
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