up.

How soon would he come?

"Couldn't say--couldn't say at all!"

How long would the office be open?

To this I received no answer, so I was forced to leave. "Scissors" had not
once looked up at me during all this scene; he had heard my voice, and
recognized me by it. You are in such bad odour here, thought I, that he
doesn't even take the trouble to answer you. I wonder if that is an order
of the editor's. I had, 'tis true enough, right from the day my celebrated
story was accepted for ten shillings, overwhelmed him with work, rushed to
his door nearly every day with unsuitable things that he was obliged to
peruse only to return them to me. Perhaps he wished to put an end to
this--take stringent measures.... I took the road to Homandsbyen.

Hans Paul! Pettersen was a peasant-farmer's son, a student, living in the
attic of a five-storeyed house; therefore, Hans Pauli Pettersen was a poor
man. But if he had a shilling he wouldn't stint it. I would get it just as
sure as if I already held it in my hand. And I rejoiced the whole time, as
I went, over the shilling, and felt confident I would get it.

When I got to the street door it was closed and I had to ring.

"I want to see Student Pettersen," I said, and was about to step inside.
"I know his room."

"Student Pettersen," repeats the girl. "Was it he who had the attic?" He