"By the way, have you written
anything lately?"
"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.
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