Memories--all right. But where, in Heaven's name, is the point?
Jehovah has never visited him; it is an invention. And, furthermore, why
didn't he choose both Youth and Beauty, and Truth as well? That is what I
should have done. The point, I say!"
"But that is just it--there is no definite point," replied Ole Henriksen.
"So Ojen says in a letter to me. Its effect lies in its euphony, he says."
"He does? No, that fellow is the same wherever he goes. That is the
trouble. Not even the mountains can do anything for him. Goats' milk and
pine woods and peasant girls have not the slightest effect on him, as it
were--I am still at a loss to understand why he sent _you_ his
manuscript, Ole; but if it is an offence to ask, of course, then--"
"I really don't know why he sent it to me," said Ole quietly. "He tells me
that he wanted me to see that he was doing something and not wasting his
time altogether. He is anxious to get back, though; he cannot stand
Torahus any longer."
Milde whistled.
"I understand! He asked you for carfare!"
"I do not suppose he has much money left. That could hardly be expected,"
answered Ole, and put the manuscript in his pocket.
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