own with the run. At length I pulled up
and drew breath. Was it not, after all, a matter of perfect
indifference to me what such a policeman said? Yes; but one couldn't
stand everything. Right enough, I interrupted myself; but he knew no
better. And I found this argument satisfactory. I repeated twice to
myself, "He knew no better"; and with that I returned again.

"Good Lord!" thought I, wrathfully, "what things you do take into your
head: running about like a madman through the soaking wet streets on
dark nights." My hunger was now tormenting me excruciatingly, and gave
me no rest. Again and again I swallowed saliva to try and satisfy
myself a little; I fancied it helped.

I had been pinched, too, for food for ever so many weeks before this
last period set in, and my strength had diminished considerably of
late. When I had been lucky enough to raise five shillings by some
manoeuvre or another they only lasted any time with difficulty; not
long enough for me to be restored to health before a new hunger period
set in and reduced me again. My back and shoulders caused me the worst
trouble. I could stop the little gnawing I had in my chest by coughing
hard, or bending well forward as I walked, but I had no remedy for back
and shoulders. Whatever was the reason that things would not brighten
up for me? Was I not just as much entitled to live as any one else? for
example, as Bookseller Pascha or Steam Agent Hennechen? Had I not two
shoulders like a giant, and two strong hands to work with? and had I
not, in sooth, even applied for a place as wood-chopper in Moellergaden
in order to earn my daily bread? Was I lazy? Had I not applied for
situations, attended lectures, written articles, and worked day and
night like a man possessed? Had I not lived like a miser, eaten bread
and milk when I had plenty, bread alone when I had little, and starved
when I had nothing? Did I live in an hotel? Had I a suite of rooms on
the first floor? Why, I am living in a loft over a tinker's workshop, a
loft already forsaken by God and man last winter, because the snow blew
in. So I could not understand the whole thing; not a bit of it.

I slouched on, and dwelt upon all this, and there was not as much as a
spark of bitterness or malice or envy in my mind.

I halted at a paint-shop and gazed into the window. I tried to read the
labels on a couple of the tins, but it was too dark. Vexed with myself
over this new whim, and excited--almost angry a