Of course, he knew how it had happened; Paulsberg was behind it. Paulsberg had supported Milde's application, and Milde had painted Paulsberg's picture. A simon-pure advertising conspiracy! And when Irgens passed the Arrow and saw the painting he spat contemptuously on the pavement. He had seen through this hypocritical scurviness. However, he would find means to make himself felt.
But why in the world should Lars Paulsberg be allowed to dispose of these subsidies? True, he had never let slip an opportunity to ingratiate himself with the newspapers; he had his press-agents; he took good care that his name shouldn't be forgotten. But apart from that? Alas, a few novels in the style of the seventies, a popular and amateurish criticism of such a moss-grown dogma as the Atonement! What did it amount to when one looked at it critically? But the fact that he had the press behind him made his words carry weight. Yes, he was certainly a shrewd and thrifty soul, a real backwoods bargain-hunter. He knew what he was doing when he even allowed his wife to accept Journalist Gregersen's beer-perfumed attentions! Faugh, what a sordid mess!
Well, he was not going to gain success by employing such methods; he hoped he would manage to get along without unfairness. He had one weapon—his pen. That was the kind of man he was.
He went home and locked his door. There would still be time to regain his composure before Mrs. Hanka's arrival. He tried to write, but found it impossible. He paced back and forth furiously, pale with anger, bitter and vindictive because of this defeat. He would, by Heaven, avenge this wrong; no gentle words were to flow from his pen henceforth!
At last Mrs. Hanka arrived.
No matter how often she had entered this apartment, she always felt a certain embarrassment at first, and she usually said in order to hide it: "Does Mr. Irgens live here?"
But she noticed at once that Irgens was not in a playful mood to-day, and she asked what was the matter. When he had told her of the great calamity she, too, was indignant: "How unjust! What a scandal! Had Milde been selected?"
"In payment for Paulsberg's portrait," said Irgens. "Well, it cannot be helped; don't let it irritate you; I am reconciled."
"You take it beautifully; I don't see how you can."
"The only effect it has on me is to make me a little bitter; it does not break my spirit."