Голод

           HansPauliPettersenwasapeasant-farmer’sson,astudent,livingintheatticofafive-storeyedhouse;therefore,HansPauliPettersenwasapoorman.Butifhehadashillinghewouldn’tstintit.IwouldgetitjustassureasifIalreadyhelditinmyhand.AndIrejoicedthewholetime,asIwent,overtheshilling,andfeltconfidentIwouldgetit.

           WhenIgottothestreetdooritwasclosedandIhadtoring.

           "IwanttoseeStudentPettersen,"Isaid,andwasabouttostepinside."Iknowhisroom."

           "StudentPettersen,"repeatsthegirl."Wasithewhohadtheattic?"Hehadmoved.

           Well,shedidn’tknowtheaddress;buthehadaskedhisletterstobesenttoHermanseninTolbod-gaden,andshementionedthenumber.

           Igo,fulloftrustandhope,allthewaytoTolbod-gadentoaskHansPauli’saddress;beingmylastchance,Imustturnittoaccount.OnthewayIcametoanewly-builthouse,whereacoupleofjoinersstoodplaningoutside.Ipickedupafewsatinyshavingsfromtheheap,stuckoneinmymouth,andtheotherinmypocketforby-and-by,andcontinuedmyjourney.

           Igroanedwithhunger.Ihadseenamarvellouslylargepennyloafatabaker’s—thelargestIcouldpossiblygetfortheprice.

           "IcometofindoutStudentPettersen’saddress!"

           "BerntAkersStreet,No.10,intheattic.