... Yes,
well, you can fetch a policeman, can't you? I'll wait here whilst you are
out looking for him, and I won't steal anything from you. Well, good-day!
Good-day! My name, by the way, is Tangen; have been out a little late.
Some one comes up the stairs. I am recalled at once to reality. I
recognize "Scissors," and put the buttons carefully into my pocket. He
attempts to pass; doesn't even acknowledge my nod; is suddenly intently
busied with his nails. I stop him, and inquire for the editor.
"Not in, do you hear."
"You lie," I said, and, with a cheek that fairly amazed myself, I
continued, "I must have a word with him; it is a necessary
errand--communications from the Stiftsgaarden. [Footnote: Dwelling of the
civil governor of a Stift or diocese.]
"Well, can't you tell me what it is, then?"
"Tell you?" and I looked "Scissors" up and down. This had the desired
effect. He accompanied me at once, and opened the door. My heart was in my
mouth now; I set my teeth, to try and revive my courage, knocked, and
entered the editor's private office.
"Good-day! Is it you?" he asked kindly; "sit down."
If he had shown me the door it would have been almost as acceptable. I
felt as if I were on the point of crying and said:
"I beg you will excuse...."
"Pray, sit down," he repeated. And I sat down, and explained that I again
had an article which I was extremely anxious to get into his paper.
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