Голод

           "

           ArrivedattheTownHallIsawthatitwaspasteleven,andIdeterminedongoingtotheeditoratonce.Istoppedoutsidetheofficedoortoseeifmysheetswerepagedrightly,smoothedthemcarefullyout,putthembackinmypocket,andknocked.MyheartbeataudiblyasIentered.

           "Scissors"isthereasusual.Iinquiretimorouslyfortheeditor.Noanswer.Themansitsandprobesforminoritemsofnewsamongsttheprovincialpapers.

           Irepeatmyquestion,andadvancealittlefarther.

           "Theeditorhasnotcomeyet!"said"Scissors"atlength,withoutlookingup.

           Howsoonwouldhecome?

           "Couldn’tsay—couldn’tsayatall!"

           Howlongwouldtheofficebeopen?

           TothisIreceivednoanswer,soIwasforcedtoleave."Scissors"hadnotoncelookedupatmeduringallthisscene;hehadheardmyvoice,andrecognizedmebyit.Youareinsuchbadodourhere,thoughtI,thathedoesn’teventakethetroubletoansweryou.Iwonderifthatisanorderoftheeditor’s.Ihad,’tistrueenough,rightfromthedaymycelebratedstorywasacceptedfortenshillings,overwhelmedhimwithwork,rushedtohisdoornearlyeverydaywithunsuitablethingsthathewasobligedtoperuseonlytoreturnthemtome.Perhapshewishedtoputanendtothis—takestringentmeasures....ItooktheroadtoHomandsbyen.