Kneir.
No, couldn’t go.
Saart.
There was a lot of everything and more too. The bride was full,—three glasses “roses without thorns,” two of “perfect love,” and surely four glasses of “love in a mist.” Well! Where she stowed it all I don’t know.
Cob.
Give me the old fashioned dram, brandy and syrup—eh! Daantje?
Daantje.
[Startled.] What?
Kneir.
He’s come here to sleep—you look as if you hadn’t been to bed at all.