“I will read it,” said he, and he took it. “Everything you write is certain to cost you effort, but you are far too impetuous; if you could only be a little more sober. There’s too much fever. In the meantime, I will read it,” and he turned to the table again. There I sat. Dared I ask for a shilling? explain to him why there was always fever? He would be sure to aid me; it was not the first time. I stood up. Hum! But the last time I was with him he had complained about money, and had sent a messenger out to scrape some together for me. Maybe it might be the same case now. No; it should not occur! Could I not see then that he was sitting at work? Was there otherwise anything? he inquired. “No,” I answered, and I compelled my voice to sound steady. “About how soon shall I call in again?” “Oh, any time you are passing--in a couple of days or so.” I could not get my request over my lips. This man’s friendliness seemed to me beyond bounds, and I ought to know how to appreciate it. Rather die of hunger! I went. Not even when I was outside the door, and felt once more the pangs of hunger, did I repent having left the office without having asked for that shilling. I took the other shaving out of my pocket and stuck it into my mouth. It helped. Why hadn’t I done so before? “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” I said aloud. “Could it really have entered your head to ask the man for a shilling and put him to inconvenience again?” and I got downright angry with myself for the effrontery of which I had almost been guilty. “That is, by God! the shabbiest thing I ever heard,” said I, “to rush at a man and nearly tear the eyes out of his head just because you happen to need a shilling, you miserable dog! So--o, march! quicker! quicker! you big thumping lout; I’ll teach you.” I commenced to run to punish myself, left one street after the other behind me at a bound, goaded myself on with suppressed cries, and shrieked dumbly and furiously at myself whenever I was about to halt. Thus I arrived a long way up Pyle Street, when at last I stood still, almost ready to cry with vexation at not being able to run any farther. I was trembling over my whole body, and I flung myself down on a step. “No; stop!” I said, and, in order to torture myself rightly, I arose again, and forced myself to keep standing. I jeered at myself and hugged myself with pleasure at the spectacle of my own exhaustion. At length, after the lapse of a few moments, I gave myself, with a nod, permission to be seated, though, even then, I chose the most uncomfortable place on the steps.