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"
Tangen
--
Andreas
Tangen
!
"
I
do
n't
know
why
I
lied
;
my
thoughts
fluttered
about
disconnectedly
and
inspired
me
with
many
singular
whims
,
more
than
I
knew
what
to
do
with
.
I
hit
upon
this
out-of-the-way
name
on
the
spur
of
the
moment
,
and
blurted
it
out
without
any
calculation
.
I
lied
without
any
occasion
for
doing
so
.
"
Occupation
?
"
This
was
driving
me
into
a
corner
with
a
vengeance
.
Occupation
!
what
was
my
occupation
?
I
thought
first
of
turning
myself
into
a
tinker
--
but
I
dared
not
;
firstly
,
I
had
given
myself
a
name
that
was
not
common
to
every
and
any
tinker
--
besides
,
I
wore
pince-nez
.
It
suddenly
entered
my
head
to
be
foolhardy
.
I
took
a
step
forward
and
said
firmly
,
almost
solemnly
:
"
A
journalist
.
"
The
guard
gave
a
start
before
he
wrote
it
down
,
whilst
I
stood
as
important
as
a
homeless
Cabinet
Minister
before
the
barrier
.
It
roused
no
suspicions
.
The
guard
understood
quite
well
why
I
hesitated
a
little
before
answering
.
What
did
it
look
like
to
see
a
journalist
in
the
night
guard-house
without
a
roof
over
his
head
?
"
On
what
paper
,
Herr
Tangen
?
"
"
Morgenbladet
!
"
said
I.
"
I
have
been
out
a
little
too
late
this
evening
,
more
's
the
shame
!
"
"
Oh
,
we
wo
n't
mention
that
,
"
he
interrupted
,
with
a
smile
;
"
when
young
people
are
out
...
we
understand
!
"
