WEHRHAHN
[By the way, like one crushed by the weight of affairs.] Mornin'.
GLASENAPP
Servant, sir.
WEHRHAHN
Anything happened, Glasenapp?
GLASENAPP
[Standing and looking through some papers.] I've got to report, your honour—there was first, oh, yes,—the innkeeper Fiebig. He begs for permission, your honour, to have music and dancing at his inn next Sunday.
WEHRHAHN
Isn't that … perhaps you can tell me. Fiebig? There was some one who recently rented his hall…?