"But if I understand
you correctly, then we agree. I am only saying what you already know?"
But Gregersen shook his head in despair and turned to Milde.
"He is impossible," he said. He emptied his glass and spoke again to
Coldevin, spoke in a louder voice than necessary; he bent toward him and
shouted: "For Heaven's sake, man, don't you understand that your opinions
are too absurd--the opinions of the self-taught man? You think that what
you say is news to us. We have heard it for ages; we know it, and we think
it ridiculous. Isch! I don't want to talk to you!"
And Gregersen got up and walked unsteadily away. It was six o'clock. The
three men who remained at the table sat silently a few moments. At last
Coldevin said:
"There goes Journalist Gregersen. That man has my unqualified pity and
sympathy."
"He would hardly accept it," said Milde with a laugh.
"But he cannot avoid it. I think often of these writers for the daily
press, these faithful workers who accomplish more in a month than the
poets wring from themselves during a year. They are often married men in
poor circumstances; their fate is not too pleasant at best.
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