They judge the tree by its fruit.
Heire.
Deuce take me if it isn’t the most impudent thing I ever heard of! I just looked in at Madam Rundholmen’s to have a glass of bitters. There sat Messrs. Monsen and Stensgård drinking port—filthy stuff! I wouldn’t touch it; but they might have had the decency to offer me a glass, all the same. However, Monsen turned to me and said, “What do you bet that Chamberlain Bratsberg won’t go with our party at the preliminary election to-morrow?” “Indeed,” said I, “how’s that to be managed?” “Oh,” he said, “this bill will persuade him——”
Fieldbo.
Bill——?
Lundestad.
At the election——?
The Chamberlain.
Well? What then?
Heire.