The entry of the host with a bowl of punch was the signal for a general demonstration of delight. Frantz Pettersen promptly sat down at the piano and started off, the rest of the party accompanying with anything they could lay hands on. One had a pair of fire tongs, one beat a brass tray, one rang a couple of glasses against each other, and so on. The words were something like this:
"Our host he is a lasting joy,
A perfect Pa for girl and boy,
A perfect Pa, hurray, hurrah,
Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!
He stands with head so meekly bowed,
Withal a man of whom we're proud,
We're proud of you, hurrah, hurroo,
Hurrah, hurrip, hurray!
All honour to the grocery trade
Whereby his fortune it was made,
And a nice one too, hurrah, hurroo,
Hurrah, hurrip, hurray!
It must have been a decent pile
For his cellar's stocked in splendid style,
Put it away, hurrah, hurray,
Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!
Though somebody must have made, we fear, a
Sad mistake with that Madeira,
Maderiah, hurray, hurrah,
Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!
But now he casts all care away
And gladly joins our circle gay.
Our circle gay, hurrah, hurray,
Hurrah, hurrip, hurroo!
The flowing bowl he brings us here,
So drink his health with a hearty cheer,
Hip, hip, hurrah, hurrip,
Hurrah, hurrip, hurra-a-ay!"
Holm did not know whether to laugh or cry at this exhibition, but chose the former; after all, it might be worth while to see how far they would go. He made speech after speech, and the company shouted in delight. Graarud, the literary critic of the People's Guardian, declared that Knut Holm was a credit to the merchant citizens of his country, and as fine a specimen of the type as was to be found.
Listad, another literary man, who edited a paper himself, was making love to Marie, but with little apparent success. He was a cadaverous-looking personage, but an idealist, and earnest in the cause of universal peace.