Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 8).djvu/224

 Pettersen.

[Lights a lamp on the chimney-place and places a shade over it.] Hark to them, Jensen! now the old man's on his legs holding a long palaver about Mrs. Sörby.

Jensen.

[Pushing forward an arm-chair.] Is it true, what folks say, that they're—very good friends, eh?

Pettersen.

Lord knows.

Jensen.

I've heard tell as he's been a lively customer in his day.

Pettersen.

May be.

Jensen.

And he's giving this spread in honour of his son, they say.

Pettersen.

Yes. His son came home yesterday.

Jensen.

This is the first time I ever heard as Mr. Werle had a son.

Pettersen.

Oh yes, he has a son, right enough. But he's a fixture, as you might say, up at the Höidal works. He's never once come to town all the years I've been in service here.

A Waiter.

[In the doorway of the other room.] Pettersen, here's an old fellow wanting