stable, and
earnestly begged him to accompany me and let me in, if he could.

Yes, if he could, yes! But he couldn't; he had no key. The police keys
were not there; they were kept in the Detective Department.

What was I to do then?

Well, I could go to an hotel and get a bed!

But I really couldn't go to an hotel and get a bed; I had not money, I
had been out--in a cafe ... he knew....

We stood a while on the Town Hall steps. He considered and examined my
personal appearance. The rain fell in torrents outside.

"Well then, you must go to the guard-house and report yourself as
homeless!" said he.

Homeless? I hadn't thought of that. Yes, by Jove, that was a capital
idea; and I thanked the constable on the spot for the suggestion. Could
I simply go in and say I was homeless?

"Just that."...

* * * * *

"Your name?" inquired the guard.

"Tangen--Andreas Tangen!"

I don't know why I lied; my thoughts fluttered about disconnectedly and
inspired me with many singular whims, more than I knew what to do with.
I hit upon this out-of-the-way name on the spur of the moment, and
blurted it out without any calculation. I lied without any occasion for
doing so.

"Occupation?"

This was driving me into a corner with a vengeance. Occupation! what
was my occupation? I thought first of turning myself into a tinker--but
I dared not; firstly, I had given myself a name that was not common to
every and any tinker--besides, I wore _pince-nez_. It suddenly entered
my head to be foolhardy. I took a step forward and said firmly, almost
solemnly:

"A journalist."

The guard gave a start before he wrote it down, whilst I stood as
important as a homeless Cabinet Minister before the barrier. It roused
no suspicions. The guard understood quite well why I hesitated a little
before answering. What did it look like to see a journalist in the
night guard-house without a roof over his head?

"On what paper, Herr Tangen?"

"_Morgenbladet_!" said I. "I have been out a little too late this
evening, more's the shame!"

"Oh, we won't mention that," he interrupted, with a smile; "when young
people are out ... we understand!"

Turning to a policeman, he said, as he rose and bowed politely to me,
"Show this gentleman up to the reserved section. Good-night!"

I felt ice run down my back at my own boldness, and I clenched my hands
to steady myself a bit. If I only hadn't dragged in the _Morgenbladet_.