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all right. But nobody would molest me if I were to leave now, you mustn’t think that. I don’t really meet any ill-natured people. The deputy won’t be lurking behind the door to take revenge, if that’s what you’re afraid of. And even if he were, I don’t think he would do me any harm.” 7
    “I would be delighted if you stayed, but you mustn’t feel obliged to tell me things just because I let you have a few kroner for tobacco. Please yourself.”
    “I’ll stay, I’ll stay!” Miniman cries. “And God bless you!” he cries. “I’m very happy to offer you some diversion, though I’m ashamed both of myself and of sitting here in this getup. I could’ve been a bit more presentable, of course, if I’d had a little time to prepare myself. I’m wearing one of Uncle’s old coats and it barely holds together, that’s quite true; it can’t stand the touch of a finger. And then there is the long tear the deputy gave me, which I hope you’ll pardon—. No, as far as having a woman to cook for us, well, we don’t. We do all our cooking and cleaning ourselves. It’s not much trouble, and we make as little fuss about it as possible. For example, if we make coffee in the morning, we drink what’s left in the evening without warming it up, and it’s the same with dinner, which we cook once and for all, so to speak, whenever it happens. What more can we ask for in our situation? And, besides, I take care of the cleaning. And that can be a sort of pastime when I have nothing else to do.”
    At this point a bell rings below in the hotel, and people can be heard walking down the stairs to supper.
    “That’s the bell for supper,” Miniman says.
    “Yes,” Nagel answers. But he doesn’t get up, nor does he show any sign of impatience; on the contrary, he settles back in his chair and asks, “Perhaps you also knew Karlsen, the man who was found dead in the woods recently? A tragic affair, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes, a most tragic affair. I should say I knew him, all right. A fine person and a noble character. Can you guess what he said to me once? He sent for me early one Sunday morning, over a year ago now, in May of last year it was. He asked me to deliver a letter for him. ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘I’ll do it, but I’m wearing such terrible shoes today, I can’t very well show myself to anyone in these shoes. If you don’t mind, I’ll go back home and borrow another pair.’—‘No, that’s not necessary,’ he answers, ‘I don’t think it matters, unless you’ll get your feet wet in those you’re wearing.’ He even thought of that—that I might get my feet wet in those shoes! Well, then he slips a krone piece into my hand and gives me the letter. When I was already in the hallway, he tears open the door again and comes after me; his whole face is so radiant that I pause to look at him, and his eyes are watering. He puts his arms around me, presses himself close and gives me a real hug, saying, ‘Now, go and deliver the letter, my old friend; I won’t forget you. When I’m ordained and get a living some day, you’ll come and stay with me all the time. So, go now, and good luck!’ Well, I’m afraid he never got a living, but had he lived, he would surely have kept his word.”
    “And so you delivered the letter?”
    “Yes.”
    “And was Miss Kielland happy to get it?”
    “How do you know it was for Miss Kielland?”
    “How I know that? You just said so yourself.”
    “Did I? That’s not true.”
    “Heh-heh, it’s not? Do you think I’m lying to you?”
    “I’m sorry, you may very well be right; but I shouldn’t have said it. It happened by mistake. Oh, but did I really say so?”
    “Why not? Did he forbid you to tell, perhaps?”
    “No, not he.”
    “What about her?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s all right, it will be safe with me. But can you understand why he went and died just now?”
    “No, I can’t. He was unlucky.” 8
    “Do you know when he is to be buried?”
    “Tomorrow