"It is, indeed!" replied Falk, trying to measure his freedom, as it were, with a glance through the window; but all he saw was a fire-escape and a dust-bin in a yard which never received more than a faint reflexion of the summer sky.
"Half a pint! That's it! Ah! Well and what do you say to the 'Triton'? Hahaha!"
"Don't laugh," said Falk; "many a poor devil will suffer through it."
"Who are the poor devils? Poor capitalists? Are you sorry for those who don't work, but live on the proceeds of their money? No, my boy, you are still full of prejudices! There was a funny tale in the Hornet about a wholesale merchant, who bequeathed to the crèche Bethlehem twenty thousand crowns, and was given the order of Vasa for his munificence; now it has transpired that the bequest was in 'Triton' shares with joint liability, and so the crèche is of course bankrupt. Isn't that lovely? The assets were twenty-five cradles and an oil painting by an unknown master. It's too funny! The portrait was valued at five crowns! Hahahaha!"
The subject of conversation irritated Falk, for he knew more of the matter than the two others.
"Did you see that the Red Cap unmasked that humbug Schönström who published that volume of miserable verses at Christmas?" said the stout man. "It really was a rare pleasure to learn the truth about the rascal. I have more than once given him a sound slating in the Copper-Snake."
"But you were rather unjust; his verses were not as bad as you said," remarked the tall man.
"Not as bad? They were worse than mine which the Grey Bonnet tore to shreds. Don't you remember?"
"By-the-by, Falk, have you been to the theatre in the Deer Park?" asked the tall man.
"No!"