Голод

           WhichwayshouldItake?Islappedmypocketsandfeltformymanuscript.AtelevenIwouldtryandseetheeditor.Istandawhileonthebalustrade,andwatchthebustleunderme.Meanwhile,myclothescommencedtosteam.Hungerputinitsappearanceafresh,gnawedatmybreast,clutchedme,andgavesmall,sharpstabsthatcausedmepain.

           HadInotafriend—anacquaintancewhomIcouldapplyto?Iransackmymemorytofindamangoodforapennypiece,andfailtofindhim.

           Well,itwasalovelyday,anyway!Sunlightbrightandwarmsurroundedme.TheskystretchedawaylikeabeautifulseaovertheLiermountains.

           Withoutknowingit,Iwasonmywayhome.Ihungeredsorely.Ifoundachipofwoodinthestreettochew—thathelpedabit.TothinkthatIhadn’tthoughtofthatsooner!Thedoorwasopen;thestable-boybademegood-morningasusual.

           "Fineweather,"saidhe.

           "Yes,"Ireplied.ThatwasallIfoundtosay.CouldIaskfortheloanofashilling?Hewouldbesuretolenditwillinglyifhecould;besidesthat,Ihadwrittenaletterforhimonce.

           Hestoodandturnedsomethingoverinhismindbeforeheventuredonsayingit.

           "Fineweather!Ahem!Ioughttopaymylandladytoday;youwouldn’tbesokindastolendmefiveshillings,wouldyou?Onlyforafewdays,sir.Youdidmeaserviceoncebefore,soyoudid."

           "No;Ireallycan’tdoit,JensOlaj,"Ianswered.