The Best of Knut Hamsun. Knut Hamsun

that is just it—there is no definite point," replied Ole Henriksen. "So Ojen says in a letter to me. Its effect lies in its euphony, he says."

      "He does? No, that fellow is the same wherever he goes. That is the trouble. Not even the mountains can do anything for him. Goats' milk and pine woods and peasant girls have not the slightest effect on him, as it were—I am still at a loss to understand why he sent you his manuscript, Ole; but if it is an offence to ask, of course, then—"

      "I really don't know why he sent it to me," said Ole quietly. "He tells me that he wanted me to see that he was doing something and not wasting his time altogether. He is anxious to get back, though; he cannot stand Torahus any longer."

      Milde whistled.

      "I understand! He asked you for carfare!"

      "I do not suppose he has much money left. That could hardly be expected," answered Ole, and put the manuscript in his pocket. "As for me, I think it is a remarkable poem, irrespective of your opinion."

      "Surely, old fellow; but please don't talk about poetry," interrupted Milde. And as it dawned on him that he had been a little too rude to the poor peddler in Aagot's presence, he added hurriedly: "I mean—Isn't it too much of a bore to talk about poetry and poetry all the time? Give us, for a change, a little fishery talk, a little railway politics—Isn't it a fierce lot of rye you are storing, Tidemand?"

      As Tidemand saw many eyes upon him, he could not entirely ignore the Artist's question, and he answered:

      "Yes, I have tried to strike a modest blow; I cannot deny it. It all depends now on how things turn out in Russia. If, in spite of everything that had been forecasted, the crops should prove even middling, it does not look any too bright for me and my rye. Rains in Russia now would mean—"

      "Rains are falling now," said Gregersen. "The English papers have been informed of a sufficient rainfall in the larger provinces. Are you selling your rye already?"

      Of course, Tidemand had bought to sell if he could get his price.

      Milde had moved over to Paulsberg, and spoke to him in a low whisper. Ojen's prose poem had caused him some anxiety. Perhaps, after all, there was something to this fellow, this competitor in the matter of the subsidy. What was Paulsberg's opinion?

      "You know I don't care to speak for or against in such a matter," said Paulsberg. "But I have called at the ministry a few times and expressed my preference. I hope it may carry some weight."

      "Of course, of course, I didn't mean—Well, the Exhibition closes to-morrow. We ought to get busy and finish that picture of yours. Can you sit tomorrow?"

      Paulsberg nodded and turned away.

      Irgens had gradually lost his good spirits; it irritated him that no one had mentioned his book. It was the latest event; why wasn't it even referred to? Everybody was only too familiar with Ojen's filigree fancies. Irgens shrugged his shoulders. Paulsberg had not indicated approval of his book by a single word. Perhaps he was waiting to be asked? But Irgens could get along without Paulsberg's opinion.

      Irgens rose.

      "Are you going?" asked Mrs. Hanka.

      Irgens said good night to her and to Miss Aagot, nodded to the others, and left Sara's.

      He had only gone a few steps when he heard somebody call him. Mrs. Hanka was hurrying after him; she had left her wraps in the cafe and had followed in order to say good night properly. Wasn't that nice of her? She smiled and was very happy.

      "I have hardly seen you since I got your book. How I have enjoyed every word!" she exclaimed, and put her hand in his coat pocket in order to be close to him. He felt that she left an envelope in his pocket. "Oh, your verses, your verses!" she said again and again.

      He could not remain impassive in the presence of this warm admiration. He wanted to return it, to show her how fond he was of her, and while in this mood he confided to her that he, too, had applied for the subsidy. What did she think of that? He had really applied, briefly and without enclosing any recommendations, simply sending his book. That ought to be sufficient.

      Mrs. Hanka did not answer at once.

      "You have suffered, then," she said; "you have lacked—I mean, you have had to apply like the others—"

      "Well, good Lord," he answered, and laughed, "what are the subsidies for, anyway? I have not suffered want; but why not apply when one can do it without loss of prestige? And I did not humble myself; be sure of that. 'I hereby apply for the subsidy and enclose my last book'—that was all. There was no kowtowing whatever. And when I survey my fellow applicants I hardly think I shall be entirely eclipsed. What is your opinion?"

      She smiled and said:

      "No, you will not be eclipsed."

      He put his arm around her and said:

      "Now, Hanka, you must go back—I can endure it all as long as you are in town, but when you go away it will look very dark for me! I shan't know what to do with myself then."

      "I am only going to the country," she said.

      "Isn't that enough? We shall be separated just the same, for you know I cannot leave the city. When are you going?"

      "I imagine in about a week."

      "I wish you wouldn't go away, Hanka!" he exclaimed, and stood still.

      Mrs. Hanka reflected.

      "Would it really please you so much if I stayed?" she asked. "All right; then I'll stay. Yes, I will. It will be hard on the children, but—Anyway, it is enough for me that I make you glad."

      They had reached Sara's once more.

      "Good night," he said happily. "Thank you, Hanka! When shall I see you again? I am longing—"

      III

      Three days later Irgens received a note from Mrs. Hanka.

      He was down-town; he had met a few acquaintances; he did not say much, but was in a satisfied frame of mind. He had taken a look at Paulsberg's great portrait which was now exhibited in the Arrow, in the large window which everybody had to pass; people crowded in front of it continually. The painting was elegant and obtrusive; Paulsberg's well-groomed form looked very distinguished in the plain cane-bottomed chair, and people wondered if that was the chair in which he had written his books. All the newspapers had mentioned the picture in flattering terms.

      Irgens had a glass of wine in front of him and listened abstractedly to the conversation. Tidemand was still optimistic; that bit of rain in Russia had not depressed his hopes. The prices were not soaring as yet, but they surely would. Suddenly Irgens pricked up his ears: Tidemand was talking about their summer plans.

      "We are not going to the country after all," he said; "Hanka thought—In fact, I told her plainly that if she wanted to go she would have to go alone; I was too busy to think of getting off. Hanka was very nice about it; she agreed to stay in the city."

      The door opened and Milde entered. The corpulent chap beamed happily and shouted, full of the great sensation he was going to spring:

      "Congratulate me, good people, I have won the prize! Imagine, in its inscrutable wisdom the ministry has chosen to bestow the subsidy upon me!"

      "Have you received the subsidy?" asked Irgens slowly.

      "Yes, can you understand it? How it happened I am at a loss to know. I got it from under your very noses! I hear that you, too, applied, Irgens?"

      Silence fell upon the crowd at the table. Nobody had expected that, and they were all wondering what influence had been brought to bear. Milde had got the subsidy—what next?

      "Well, I congratulate you!" said Tidemand, and gave Milde his hand.

      "Thank you," Milde replied. "I want you to lend me some money now, so that