I spat far out over the pavement, without troubling if it hit anyone. I felt enraged; filled with contempt for these people who scraped acquaintanceship with one another, and paired off right before my eyes. I lifted my head, and felt in myself the blessing of being able to keep my own sty clean. At Stortingsplads (Parliament Place) I met a girl who looked fixedly at me as I came close to her.
“Good night!” said I.
“Good night!” She stopped.
Hum! was she out walking so late? Did not a young lady run rather a risk in being in Carl Johann at this time of night? Really not? Yes; but was she never spoken to, molested, I meant; to speak plainly, asked to go along home with anyone?
She stared at me with astonishment, scanned my face closely, to see what I really meant by this, then thrust her hand suddenly under my arm, and said:
“Yes, and we went too!”
I walked on with her. But when we had gone a few paces past the car-stand I came to a standstill, freed my arm, and said:
“Listen, my dear, I don’t own a farthing!” and with that I went on.
At first she would not believe me; but after she had searched all my pockets, and found nothing, she got vexed, tossed her head, and called me a dry cod.
“Good night!” said I.
“Wait a minute,” she called; “are those eyeglasses that you’ve got gold?”
“No.”
“Then go to blazes with you!” and I went.
A few seconds after she came running behind me, and called out to me:
“You can come with me all the same!”
I felt humiliated by this offer from an unfortunate street wench, and I said “No.” Besides, it was growing late at night, and I was due at a place. Neither could she afford to make sacrifices of that kind.
“Yes; but now I will have you come with me.”
“But I won’t go with you in this way.”
“Oh, naturally; you are going with someone else.”
“No,” I answered.
But I was conscious that I stood in a sorry plight in face of this unique street jade, and I made up my mind to save appearances at least.
“What is your name?” I inquired. “Mary, eh? Well, listen to me now, Mary!” and I set about explaining my behaviour. The girl grew more and more astonished in measure as I proceeded. Had she then believed that I, too, was one of those who went about the street at night and ran after little girls? Did she really think so badly of me? Had I perhaps said anything rude to her from the beginning? Did one behave as I had done when one was actuated by any bad motive? Briefly, in so many words, I had accosted her, and accompanied her those few paces, to see how far she would go on with it. For the rest, my name was So-and-so—Pastor So-and-so. “Goodnight; depart, and sin no more!” With these words I left her.
I rubbed my hands with delight over my happy notion, and soliloquised aloud, “What a joy there is in going about doing good actions.” Perhaps I had given this fallen creature an upward impulse for her whole life; saved her, once for all, from destruction, and she would appreciate it when she came to think over it; remember me yet in her hour of death with thankful heart. Ah! in truth, it paid to be honourable, upright, and righteous!
My spirits were effervescing. I felt fresh and courageous enough to face anything that might turn up. If I only had a candle, I might perhaps complete my article. I walked on, jingling my new door-key in my hand; hummed, and whistled, and speculated as to means of procuring a candle. There was no other way out of it. I would have to take my writing materials with me into the street, under a lamppost. I opened the door, and went up to get my papers. When I descended once more I locked the door from the outside, and planted myself under the light. All around was quiet; I heard only the heavy clanking footstep of a constable down in Tærgade, and far away in the direction of St. Han’s Hill a dog barked. There was nothing to disturb me. I pulled my coat collar up round my ears, and commenced to think with all my might.
It would be such an extraordinary help to me if I were lucky enough to find a suitable winding up for this little essay. I had stuck just at a rather difficult point in it, where there ought to be a quite imperceptible transition to something fresh, then a subdued gliding finale, a prolonged murmur, ending at last in a climax as bold and as startling as a shot, or the sound of a mountain avalanche—full stop. But the words would not come to me. I read over the whole piece from the commencement; read every sentence aloud, and yet failed absolutely to crystallise my thoughts, in order to produce this scintillating climax. And into the bargain, whilst I was standing labouring away at this, the constable came and, planting himself a little distance away from me, spoilt my whole mood. Now, what concern was it of his if I stood and strove for a striking climax to an article for the Commander? Lord, how utterly impossible it was for me to keep my head above water, no matter how much I tried! I stayed there for the space of an hour. The constable went his way. The cold began to get too intense for me to keep still. Disheartened and despondent over this abortive effort, I opened the door again, and
