Голод

           Itwasalittleyarn-shop—aplaceinwhichIhadneverbeforesetfoot;asolitarymanbehindthecounter(therewasanofficebeyond,withachinaplateonthedoor)wasarrangingthingsontheshelvesandcounter.Iwaitedtillthelastcustomerhadlefttheshop—ayoungladywithdimples.Howhappyshelooked!Iwasnotbackwardintryingtomakeanimpressionwiththepinholdingmycoattogether.Iturned,andmychestheaved.

           "Doyouwishforanything?"queriedtheshopman.

           "Isthechiefin?"Iasked.

           "HeisgoneforamountaintourinJotunhejmen,"hereplied.Wasitanythingveryparticular,eh?

           "Itconcernsacoupleofpenceforfood,"Isaid,andItriedtosmile."Iamhungry,andhaven’tafraction."

           "Thenyou’rejustaboutasrichasIam,"heremarked,andbegantotidysomepackagesofwool.

           "Ah,don’tturnmeaway—notnow!"Isaidonthemoment,withacoldfeelingovermywholebody."Iamreallynearlydeadwithhunger;itisnowmanydayssinceIhaveeatenanything."

           Withperfectgravity,withoutsayingaword,hebegantoturnhispocketsinsideout,onebyone.WouldInotbelievehim,uponhisword?What?

           "Onlyahalfpenny,"saidI,"andyoushallhaveapennybackinacoupleofdays."

           "Mydearman,doyouwantmetostealoutofthetill?"hequeried,impatiently.

           "Yes,"saidI."Yes;takeahalfpennyoutofthetill.