across his forehead. "Do stay a little while and we'll have a good talk.
You can't think how I've missed you!" He looked tired.

"I'm looking forward tremendously to reading your books," said Pelle
enthusiastically. "What a lot you've written! You haven't given that
up."

"Perhaps solitude's taught you too to like books," said Morten, looking
at him. "If so, you've made some good friends in there, Pelle. All that
there isn't worth much; it's only preliminary work. It's a new world
ours, you must remember."

"I don't think _The Working Man_ cares much about you."

"No, not much," answered Morten slowly.

"They say you only write in the upper-class papers."

"If I didn't I should starve. _They_ don't grudge me my food, at
any rate! Our own press still has no use for skirmishers, but only for
men who march to order!"

"And it's very difficult for you to subordinate yourself to any one,"
said Pelle, smiling.

"I have a responsibility to those above me," answered Morten proudly.
"If I give the blind man eyes to see into the future, I can't let myself
be led by him. Now and then _The Working Man_ gets hold of one of
my contributions to the upper-class press: that's all the connection I
have with my own side. My food I have to get from the other side of the