Hunger by Knut Hamsun
page 58 of 226 (25%)
page 58 of 226 (25%)
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A man is standing pasting together bags made of old newspaper.
"I would like to see Mr. Christie," I said. "That's me!" replied the man. "Indeed!" Well, my name was so-and-so. I had taken the liberty of sending him an application, I did not know if it had been of any use. He repeated my name a couple of times and commenced to laugh. "Well now, you shall see," he said, taking my letter out of his breast-pocket, "if you will just be good enough to see how you deal with dates, sir. You dated your letter 1848," and the man roared with laughter. "Yes, that was rather a mistake," I said, abashed--a distraction, a want of thought; I admitted it. "You see I must have a man who, as a matter of fact, makes no mistakes in figures," said he. "I regret it, your handwriting is clear, and I like your letter, too, but--" I waited a while; this could not possibly be the man's final say. He busied himself again with the bags. "Yes, it was a pity," I said; "really an awful pity, but of course it would not occur again; and, after all, surely this little error could not have rendered me quite unfit to keep books?" "No, I didn't say that," he answered, "but in the meantime it had so much |
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