I
found also a couple of pawn-tickets which I pocketed as I thanked the
obliging little man for his civility. I was more and more taken with him,
and grew all of a sudden extremely anxious to make a favourable impression
on this person. I took a turn towards the door and then back again to the
counter as if I had forgotten something. It struck me that I owed him an
explanation, that I ought to elucidate matters a little. I began to hum in
order to attract his attention. Then, taking the pencil in my hand, I held
it up and said:
"It would never have entered my head to come such a long way for any and
every bit of pencil, but with this one it was quite a different matter;
there Was another reason, a special reason. Insignificant as it looked,
this stump of pencil had simply made me what I was in the world, so to
say, placed me in life." I said no more. The man had come right over to
the counter.
"Indeed!" said he, and he looked inquiringly at me.
"It was with this pencil," I continued, in cold blood, "that I wrote my
dissertation on 'Philosophical Cognition,' in three volumes." Had he never
heard mention of it?
Well, he did seem to remember having heard the name, rather the title.
"Yes," said I, "that was by me, so it was." So he must really not be
astonished that I should be desirous of having the little bit of pencil
back again. I valued it far too highly to lose it; why, it was almost as
much to me as a little human creature.
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