He had no intention of avoiding people. He had a
revolver lying in a desk drawer; but had he wanted to use that, even for
the briefest moment? Had he _thought_ of it even? Not at all. It just
occurred to him now that it might be getting rusty. No, thank God! one was
not exactly weary of life....
Ole Henriksen went to the Grand.
He sat down at a table and ordered his glass of beer. A moment later he
felt somebody slap him on the shoulder. He looked up; it was Milde.
"Good old boy!" shouted Milde. "Are you sitting here without saying a
word? Welcome back! Come over to the window; you will find a couple of the
fellows there."
Ole went over to the window. There were Ojen, Norem, and Gregersen, all of
them with half-empty wine-glasses in front of them. Ojen jumped up and
said pleasantly:
"Welcome home, old man! I am glad to see you again. I have missed you a
good deal. I am coming down to-morrow to see you. There is something I
want to see you about."
Gregersen gave him a finger. Ole took it, sat down, and told the waiter to
bring him his beer.
"What! are you drinking beer? No, beer will never do on this occasion; it
must be wine!"
"Well, drink what you want to.
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