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By Root 940 0

by truth that it can be bowled over by the bullwhip of a truth like that. That is the question.... Anyway, Gladstone is so right and his conscience so clear that it will never even occur to him to stop doing good for our planet. He must constantly be on the go, he’s in demand everywhere. And so he cuffs the world’s ears with his wisdom in Birmingham, in Glasgow, bringing a cork cutter and an attorney to the same political view, fighting like a Trojan for the cause he believes in, straining his old, faithful lungs to the utmost so that not one of his precious words will be lost on his listeners. And then, in the evening, when the performance is over and the people have cheered and Gladstone has taken his bows, he goes home and to bed; he folds his hands, recites a prayer and falls asleep, without the tiniest suspicion in his heart, without a hint of shame at having filled Birmingham and Glasgow—with what? He simply feels he has done his duty toward his fellow men and right by himself, and so he sleeps the sleep of the just. He wouldn’t be sinful enough to say to himself: Today you didn’t do very well, the two cotton spinners in the front row were bored, you made one of them yawn—he wouldn’t say this to himself, because he isn’t quite certain it’s true. And he refuses to lie, because lying is a sin, and Gladstone just won’t sin. No, he would say: I had the impression that a man yawned; strange to say, he seemed to yawn. But I must have been mistaken, the man probably didn’t yawn. Heh-heh-heh.... I don’t know whether it was something of the sort I said in Kristiania; but it doesn’t matter. At any rate, I confess that Gladstone’s so-called great mind has made anything but an overwhelming impression on me.”

“Poor Gladstone!” Mr. Reinert, the deputy, said.

Nagel made no reply.

“No, it wasn’t this you spoke about in Kristiania,” 0ien explained. “You raked Gladstone over the coals for his handling of the Irish and Parnell, and you said, among other things, that he was no great mind. I do recall your saying that. He was merely a powerful force, fairly good, but of an extremely ordinary kind, you said, Beaconsfield’s over-sized little finger.”

“I remember; I was denied the floor, heh-heh-heh. Good, I endorse that too, why not? It can’t get worse than it is already. But judge me leniently!”

Then Dr. Stenersen said, “Tell me, are you a member of the Conservative Party?”

Nagel opened his eyes wide in amazement; then he burst out laughing and replied, “Well, what do you think?”13

Just then the doorbell rang at the doctor’s office. Mrs. Stenersen jumped up; of course, now the doctor would have to go out again, worse luck. But nobody could break up yet, oh no, not before midnight anyway. Miss Andresen simply had to sit down again, Anna would bring more hot water, lots of hot water. It was only ten o’clock.

“Mr. Reinert, you aren’t drinking.”

Oh yes he was, he didn’t stint himself.

“Anyway, I won’t let you leave. You will stay, all of you. Dagny, you’re so quiet.”

No, Dagny was no quieter than usual.

At this moment the doctor came back from his office. They would have to excuse him, he had to be off; it was a serious case, a hemorrhage. Well, it was not so far away that he couldn’t be back in two or three hours; hoped to see them again then. “So long, everyone; so long, Jetta.”

The doctor left in great haste. A minute later he was seen with another man trotting down the road to the docks, he was in such a hurry.

“Now let’s dream up something,” Mrs. Stenersen said.... “Oh, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been bored staying here alone when my husband was away. It’s especially bad on winter nights, when I’m often not even sure he’ll ever get back.”

“You don’t have children, do you?” Nagel asked.

“No, we don’t.... Well, by now I’m more or less used to those long nights, but in the beginning it was terrible. I tell you, I was so afraid, so anxious and afraid of the dark—yes, I’m afraid of the dark too, I’m sorry to say—that sometimes I had to get out of bed and go lie down in the maid’s room.... But now you too, Dagny, must