Then he went and procured a big bottle of ink and a packet of foolscap paper for Number 19.
"Is that enough ?" he asked.
"Thank you, thank you!" said Ferleitner; "only now I want a pen." "Oh no, my dear sir, no.

We know that sort of thing.

Since the notary in Number 43 stabbed himself with a steel pen five years ago, I don't give any more," said the gaoler.
"But I can't write without a pen," returned Konrad.
"That's not my business; I can't let you have a pen," the old man assured him.
"The judge gave me permission to have one," Konrad remonstrated modestly.
Then the old man exclaimed afresh: "Do you know this judge, he just comes up as far as this," and he placed his hand on a level with his chin.

"He crumbles everything up and then we're to spoon it out." Then he muttered indistinctly in his beard; "I say just this, if they let a man hang for a week before they hang him, it's a--a--good God! I can't properly--I can't find any more fine words! If a man puts a knife into himself, no wonder!" "I shan't kill myself," said Konrad quietly.

"They say I may put my hopes in the king." "And you want to write to him?
That won't help much, but you can do it if you like; there's time.