But this was too much for Gregersen. He himself had written the news notes about Paulsberg's trip to Honefos. He shouted: "But you have the most infernal way of saying insolent things! You look as if you were saying nothing of consequence--" "I simply cannot understand why you lose your temper," said Milde tranquilly, "when Paulsberg himself told us to grin and bear it!" Pause. "In a word," resumed Coldevin, "the people do their duty, the papers do their duty. Our authors are not ordinary, readable talents; no, they are flaming pillars of fire; they are being translated into German! They assume dimensions. This, of course, can be repeated so often that people at last believe it; but such a self-delusion is very harmful. It makes us complacent, it perpetuates our insignificance." Gregersen plays a trump card: "But tell me, you--I don't remember your name:--do you know the story of Vinje and the potato? I always think of that when I hear you speak. You are so immensely unsophisticated; you are from the country, and you think you can amaze us. You have not the slightest suspicion that your opinions are somewhat antiquated. Your opinions are those of the self-taught man. Once Vinje began to ponder over the ring in a newly cut, raw potato; being from the country, you, at least, must know that there in springtime, often, is a purple figure in a potato. And Vinje was so interested in this purple outline that he sat down and wrote a mathematical thesis about it. He took this to Fearnley in the fond belief that he had made a great discovery. 'This is very fine,' said Fearnley; 'it is perfectly correct. You have solved the problem. But the Egyptians knew this two thousand years ago--' They knew it ages ago, ha, ha, ha! And I am always reminded of this story when I hear you speak! Don't be offended, now!" Pause. "No, I am not offended in the least," said Coldevin. "But if I understand you correctly, then we agree. I am only saying what you already know?" But Gregersen shook his head in despair and turned to Milde. "He is impossible," he said. He emptied his glass and spoke again to Coldevin, spoke in a louder voice than necessary; he bent toward him and shouted: "For Heaven's sake, man, don't you understand that your opinions are too absurd--the opinions of the self-taught man? You think that what you say is news to us. We have heard it for ages; we know it, and we think it ridiculous. Isch! I don't want to talk to you!" And Gregersen got up and walked unsteadily away. It was six o'clock. The three men who remained at the table sat silently a few moments. At last Coldevin said: "There goes Journalist Gregersen. That man has my unqualified pity and sympathy." "He would hardly accept it," said Milde with a laugh.