Monsen.
Quite right. [Introducing them.] Mr. Stensgård, Mr. Daniel Heire
Bastian.
Capitalist.
Heire.
Ex-capitalist, you should rather say. It's all gone now; slipped through my fingers, so to speak. Not that I'm bankrupt—for goodness' sake don't think that.
Monsen.
Drink, drink, while the froth is on it.
Heire.
But rascality, you understand—sharp practice and so forthI say no more. Well, well, I am confident it is only temporary. When I get my outstanding law-suits and some other little matters off my hands, I shall soon be on the track of our aristocratic old Reynard the Fox. Let us drink to that! You won't, eh?
Stensgård.
I should like to know first who your aristocratic old Reynard the Fox may be.
Heire.
Hee-hee; you needn't look so uncomfortable, man. You don't suppose I'm alluding to Mr. Monsen. No one can accuse Mr. Monsen of being aristocratic. No; it's Chamberlain Bratsberg, my dear young friend.
