"She stopped in to borrow a hundred from Ole Henriksen. I see there is talk about famine in Russia—Well, I can't say that I have starved as yet."
Milde turned to Coldevin and remarked pompously:
"That is something it wouldn't hurt you to know out in the country: so shabbily does Norway treat her great men!"
Coldevin glanced from one to another.
"Indeed," he said, "it is sad." A moment later he added: "Well, one cannot say things are much better out in the country. The struggle to live is bitter there, too."
"But, so help me, there is a difference between poets and peasants, I should think!"
"In the country people adjust themselves to the law that the weak must perish," said Coldevin quietly. "For instance, people who cannot support a wife do not marry. If they do, and if they later on have to rely on others to discharge their obligations, then they are disgraced, branded with shame."
Everybody looked at the bald fellow; even Paulsberg snatched his glasses that were hanging on a cord across his breast, looked at him a moment, and asked in a stage whisper:
"What in the world—what kind of a phenomenon is that?"
This happy word made the friends smile; Paulsberg was asking what kind of a phenomenon this was, a phenomenon—he, he! It was not often Paulsberg said that much. Coldevin looked unconcerned; he did not smile. A pause ensued.