Lundestad.
Times change, you see. New problems arise, and for their solution we want new forces.
Stensgård.
Now, frankly, Mr. Lundestad—are you really going to give up your seat to Monsen?
Lundestad.
To Monsen? No, certainly not to Monsen.
Stensgård.
Then I don't understand
Lundestad.
Suppose, now, I did retire in Monsen's favour: do you think he would be elected?
Stensgård.
It's hard to say. As the preliminary election comes on the day after to-morrow, there may scarcely be time to prepare the public mind; but
Lundestad.
I don't believe he would manage it. The Chamberlain's party, my party, would not vote for him. Of course "my party" is a figure of speech; I mean the men of property, the old families, who are settled on their own land and belong to it. They won't have anything to do with Monsen. Monsen is a newcomer; no one really knows anything about Monsen and his affairs. And then he has had to cut down so much to clear a place for himself—to fell both trees and men, you may say.
