"A couple of prose poems," replies Ojen, brightening at once. "I am waiting to get off to Torahus so I can start in in earnest. You are right —this town is unbearable!"
"Well—I had the whole country in mind, though—Say, don't forget next Thursday evening in my studio. By the way, old fellow, have you got a crown or so you could spare?"
Ojen unbuttons his coat and finds the crown.
"Thanks, old man. Thursday evening, then. Come early so that you can help me a little with the arrangements—Good Lord, silk lining! And I who asked you for a miserable crown! I hope I did not offend you."
Ojen smiles and pooh-poohs the joke.
"As if one sees anything nowadays but silk-lined clothes!"
"By Jove! What do they soak you for a coat like that?" And Milde feels the goods appraisingly.
"Oh, I don't remember; I never can remember figures; that is out of my line. I put all my tailor bills away; I come across them whenever I move."
"Ha, ha, ha! that is certainly a rational system, most practical. For I do not suppose you ever pay them!"
"In God's own time, as the Bible says—Of course, if I ever get rich, then—But I want you to go now. I must be alone."