A woman is standing at the counter making purchases; several small parcels in different sorts of paper are lying in front of her. The shopman, who knows me, and knows what I usually buy, leaves the woman, and packs without much ado a loaf in a piece of paper and shoves it over to me.
“No, thank you, it was really a candle I wanted this evening,” I say. I say it very quietly and humbly, in order not to vex him and spoil my chance of getting what I want.
My answer confuses him; he turns quite cross at my unexpected words; it was the first time I had ever demanded anything but a loaf from him.
“Well then, you must wait a while,” he says at last, and busies himself with the woman’s parcels again.
She receives her wares and pays for them—gives him a florin, out of which she gets the change, and goes out. Now the shop-boy and I are alone. He says:
“So it was a candle you wanted, eh!” He tears open a package, and takes one out for me. He looks at me, and I look at him; I can’t get my request over my lips.
“Oh yes, that’s true; you paid, though!” he says suddenly. He simply asserts that I had paid. I heard every word, and he begins to count some silver out of the till, coin after coin, shining stout pieces. He gives me back change for a crown.
“Much obliged,” he says. Now I stand and look at these pieces of money for a second. I am conscious something is wrong somewhere. I do not reflect; do not think about anything at all—I am simply struck of a heap by all this wealth which is lying glittering before my eyes—and I gather up the money mechanically.
I stand outside the counter, stupid with amazement, dumb, paralysed. I take a stride towards the door, and stop again. I turn my eyes upon a certain spot in the wall, where a little bell is suspended to a leather collar, and underneath this a bundle of string, and I stand and stare at these things.
The shop-boy is struck by the idea that I want to have a chat as I take my time so leisurely, and says, as he tidies a lot of wrapping-papers strewn over the counter:
“It looks as if we were going to have winter now!”
“Humph! Yes,” I reply; “it looks as if we were going to have winter in earnest now; it looks like it,” and a while after, I add: “Ah, well, it is none too soon.”
I could hear myself speak, but each word I uttered struck my ear as if it were coming from another person. I spoke absolutely unwittingly, involuntarily, without being conscious of myself.
“Oh, do you think so?” says the boy.
I thrust the hand with the money into my pocket, turned the door-handle, and left. I could hear that I said good night, and that the shop-boy replied to me.
I had gone a few paces away from the shop when the shop-door was torn open, and the boy called after me. I turned round without any astonishment, without a trace of fear; I only collected the money into my hand, and prepared to give it back.
“Beg pardon, you’ve forgotten your candle,” says the boy.
“Ah, thanks,” I answer quietly. “Thanks, thanks”; and I strolled on, down the street, bearing it in my hand.
My first sensible thought referred to the money. I went over to a lamppost, counted it, weighed it in my hand, and smiled. So, in spite of all, I was helped—extraordinarily, grandly, incredibly helped—helped for a long, long time; and I thrust my hand with the money into my pocket, and walked on.
Outside an eating-house in Grand Street I stopped, and turned over in my mind, calmly and quietly, if I should venture so soon to take a little refreshment. I could hear the rattle of knives and plates inside, and the sound of meat being pounded. The temptation was too strong for me—I entered.
“A helping of beef,” I say.
“One beef!” calls the waitress down through the door of the lift.
I sat down by myself at a little table next to the door, and prepared to wait. It was somewhat dark where I was sitting, and I felt tolerably well concealed, and set myself to have a serious think. Every now and then the waitress glanced over at me inquiringly. My first downright dishonesty was accomplished—my first theft. Compared to this, all my earlier escapades were as nothing—my first great fall. … Well and good! There was no help for it. For that matter, it was open to me to settle it with the shopkeeper later on, on a more opportune occasion. It need not go any farther with me. Besides that, I had not taken upon myself to live more honourably than all the other folk; there was no contract that …
“Do you think that beef will soon be here?”
“Yes; immediately”; the waitress opens the trap-door, and looks down into the kitchen.
But suppose the affair did crop up some day? If the shop-boy were to get suspicious and begin to think over the transaction about the bread, and the florin of which the woman got the change? It was not impossible that he would discover it some day, perhaps the next time I went there. Well, then, Lord! … I shrugged my shoulders unobserved.
“If you please,” says the waitress, kindly, placing the beef on the table, “wouldn’t you rather go to another compartment, it’s so dark here?”
“No, thanks; just let me be here,” I reply; her kindliness touches me at once. I pay for the beef on the spot, put whatever change remains into her hand, close her fingers over it. She smiles, and I say in fun, with the tears near my ears, “There, you’re to have the balance to buy yourself a farm. … Ah, you’re very welcome to it.”
I commenced to eat, got more and more greedy as I
