Peer.
And where is he now, this remarkable man?
An Elderly Man.
He fared over seas to a foreign land;
It went ill with him there, as one well might foresee;—
It's many a year now since he was hanged.
Peer.
Hanged! Ay, ay! Why, I thought as much;
Our lamented Peer Gynt was himself to the last.
[Bows.
Good-bye,—and best thanks for to-day's merry meeting.
[Goes a few steps, but stops again.
You joyous youngsters, you comely lasses,— Shall I pay my shot with a traveller's tale? Several Voices. Yes; do you know any? Peer. Nothing more easy.—
[He comes nearer; a look of strangeness comes over him.
I was gold-digging once in San Francisco.
There were mountebanks swarming all over the town.
One with his toes could perform on the fiddle;
Another could dance a Spanish halling[1] on his knees;
A third, I was told, kept on making verses
While his brain-pan was having a hole bored right through it.
- ↑ See footnotes, pp. 29 and 30.
