self to perdition, brand one's soul with the first little scar, set the
first black mark against one's honour, call one's self a blackguard to
one's own face, and needs must cast one's eyes down before one's self?
Never! never! It could never have been my serious intention--it had really
never seriously taken hold of me; in fact, I could not be answerable for
every loose, fleeting, desultory thought, particularly with such a
headache as I had, and nearly killed carrying a blanket, too, that
belonged to another fellow.

There would surely be some way or another of getting help when the right
time came! Now, there was the grocer in Groenlandsleret. Had I importuned
him every hour in the day since I sent in my application? Had I rung the
bell early and late, and been turned away? Why, I had not even applied
personally to him or sought an answer! It did not follow, surely, that it
must needs be an absolutely vain attempt.

Maybe I had luck with me this time. Luck often took such a devious course,
and I started for Groenlandsleret.

The last spasm that had darted through my head had exhausted me a little,
and I walked very slowly and thought over what I would say to him.

Perhaps he was a good soul; if the whim seized him he might pay me for my
work a shilling in advance, even without my asking for it. People of that
sort had sometimes the most capital ideas.

I stole into a doorway and blackened the knees of my trousers with spittle
to try and make them look a little respectable, left the parcel behind me
in a dark corner at the back of a chest, and entered the little shop.