He came smilingly over to me, as was his wont, laid both his hands flat on the counter, and looked at my face without saying anything. Yes, I had brought something of which I would ask him if he could make any use; something which is only in my way at home, assure you of it—are quite an annoyance—some buttons. Well, what then? what was there about the buttons? and he thrusts his eyes down close to my hand. Couldn’t he give me a couple of halfpence for them?—whatever he thought himself—quite according to his own judgment. “For the buttons?”—and “Uncle” stares astonishedly at me—“for these buttons?” Only for a cigar or whatever he liked himself; I was just passing, and thought I would look in.
Upon this, the old pawnbroker burst out laughing, and returned to his desk without saying a word. There I stood; I had not hoped for much, yet, all the same, I had thought of a possibility of being helped. This laughter was my death-warrant. It couldn’t, I suppose, be of any use trying with my eyeglasses either? Of course, I would let my glasses go in with them; that was a matter of course, said I, and I took them off. Only a penny, or, if he wished, a halfpenny.
“You know quite well I can’t lend you anything on your glasses,” said “Uncle”; “I told you that once before.”
“But I want a stamp,” I said, dully. “I can’t even send off the letters I have written; a penny or a halfpenny stamp, just as you will.”
“Oh, God help you, go your way!” he replied, and motioned me off with his hands.
Yes, yes; well, it must be so, I said to myself. Mechanically I put on my glasses again, took the buttons in my hand, and, turning away, bade him good night, and closed the door after me as usual. Well, now, there was nothing more to be done! To think he would not take them at any price, I muttered. They are almost new buttons; I can’t understand it.
Whilst I stood, lost in thought, a man passed by and entered the office. He had given me a little shove in his hurry. We both made excuses, and I turned round and looked after him.
“What! is that you?” he said, suddenly, when halfway up the steps. He came back, and I recognised him. “God bless me, man, what on earth do you look like? What were you doing in there?”
“Oh, I had business. You are going in too, I see.”
“Yes; what were you in with?”
My knees trembled; I supported myself against the wall, and stretched out my hand with the buttons in it.
“What the deuce!” he cried. “No; this is really going too far.”
“Good night!” said I, and was about to go; I felt the tears choking my breast.
“No; wait a minute,” he said.
What was I to wait for? Was he not himself on the road to my “Uncle,” bringing, perhaps, his engagement ring—had been hungry, perhaps, for several days—owed his landlady.
“Yes,” I replied; “if you will be out soon. …”
“Of course,” he broke in, seizing hold of my arm; “but I may as well tell you I don’t believe you. You are such an idiot, that it’s better you come in along with me.”
I understood what he meant, suddenly felt a little spark of pride, and answered:
“I can’t; I promised to be in Bernt Akers Street at half-past seven, and …”
“Half-past seven, quite so; but it’s eight now. Here I am, standing with the watch in my hand that I’m going to pawn. So, in with you, you hungry sinner! I’ll get you five shillings, anyhow,” and he pushed me in.
III
A week passed in glory and gladness.
I had got over the worst this time, too. I had had food every day, and my courage rose, and I thrust one iron after the other into the fire.
I was working at three or four articles, that plundered my poor brain of every spark, every thought that rose in it; and yet I fancied that I wrote with more facility than before.
The last article with which I had raced about so much, and upon which I had built such hopes, had already been returned to me by the editor; and, angry and wounded as I was, I had destroyed it immediately, without even rereading it again. In future, I would try another paper in order to open up more fields for my work.
Supposing that writing were to fail, and the worst were to come to the worst, I still had the ships to take to. The Nun lay alongside the wharf, ready to sail, and I might, perhaps, work my way out to Archangel, or wherever else she might be bound; there was no lack of openings on many sides. The last crisis had dealt rather roughly with me. My hair fell out in masses, and I was much troubled with headaches, particularly in the morning, and my nervousness died a hard death. I sat and wrote during the day with my hands bound up
