Getting their jubilation up.—Well met!
[To Guldstad, who enters with an overcoat on his arm.
Ah, slipping off, sir?
Guldstad.
Yes, with your goodwill.
But let me first put on my overcoat.
We prose-folks are susceptible to chill;
The night wind takes us by the tuneless throat.
Good evening!
Falk.