, but
comes back.) I have no handkerchief. I must have laid it down in the
dining-room.

Tjaelde. Here is mine!(Feels in his pocket for it.) One cannot rely
on you for the least thing. The salute will be too late now. It is
disgraceful! (HAMAR goes to the window and waves the handkerchief madly.
At last the report of a cannon is heard. The guests are standing in a
group, holding their dessert plates.)

Holm. A little bit late!

Knutzon. Rather behind the moment--

Ring. A very important moment, however!

Holm. A very unexpected one, anyway!

Knutzon (jestingly). Allow me, amidst the cannon's roar, to introduce to
you a man who has been led by the nose!

Ring. Oh, Tjaelde knows what he is about!

Tjaelde. Mr. Lind is kind enough to wish to propose a toast. (They all
compose themselves into respectful silence.)

Lind. Our worthy host has proposed my health in most flattering terms.
I would merely add this, that wealth is entrusted to those who have it
precisely in order that they may support industry, genius, and great
undertakings.

Pram (who has never changed his position). Nobly said.

Lind. I am only an administrator of a trust, and too often a weak and
short-sighted one.

Pram. Beautiful.

Lind. But I shall not be mistaken if I say that Mr. Tjaelde's many-sided
activities, which we must all admire, rest upon a sound foundation; and
of that fact no one, at the present moment, is better able to judge than
I. (The guests look at one another in surprise.) Therefore I have no
hesitation in saying that his activities are an honour to this town, to
this district, to our whole country, and that therefore his genius and
his energy deserve support. I propose the toast of "prosperity to the
firm of Tjaelde!"

All. Prosperity to the firm of Tjaelde!

(HAMAR signals again with the handkerchief, and a cannon shot is heard.)

Tjaelde. I thank you heartily, Mr. Lind! I am profoundly touched.

Lind. I said no more than I am convinced of, Mr. Tjaelde!!

Tjaelde. Thank you! (To HAMAR.) What do you mean by signalling for a
salute for the host? Blockhead!

Hamar. You said there was to be a salute when a toast was proposed,
didn't you?

Tjaelde. Oh, you are a--!

Hamar (to himself). Well, if ever again I--!

Holm. Then it is an accomplished fact, I suppose?

Knutzon. _Fait accompli_! That toast represents twenty thousand pounds,
at least.

Ring. Yes, Tjaelde knows what he is about! I have always said that!