FIRST FRIEND. Dear old friend, if you insist I will sit beside you while you dine; but it actually looks as though I had come here for a meal.
PEHR. What matter even if it were so.
FIRST FRIEND. [Protests.] Oh—!
PEHR. Wait a bit—I'm not saying that it is so!
FIRST FRIEND. [Seats himself.] So now you are in clover, as they say. It is pleasant to contemplate that fate can be so kindly, and it must ever rejoice a sensitive soul to see that some one is favored by fickle fortune. Not all—more's the pity!—can praise fickle fortune.
PEHR. Indeed! Have you any grievances?
PEHR. Yes—for I don't want to hear any hard-luck stories now, when I'm eating. Won't you be good enough to favor me by trying a hazel-grouse?
FIRST FRIEND. If you speak of favors, my friend!
PEHR. Then you mustn't say "my friend"; you must call me by name.
FIRST FRIEND. Christopher! You ask a service of poor me—can I then deny you! [He begins to eat, his appetite increases during following repartee. Pehr regards him with open-eyed wonder.]