_Krakau, who has once or twice shown the impulse to go over to Helms, stirs uneasily but turns his back to his window._ _A silence falls._ _Suddenly Hansen begins to whistle, a tuneless mournful strain._] JOHNSTON [_whispering confidentially_]. My dear Peter, one doesn't whistle at a birthday party. HANSEN [_mocking him_]. My dear Henry, mind your own affairs. JOHNSTON. You have the soul of a greengrocer. HANSEN. You have the manners of a barber. BUFFE [_laughing_]. Those boys are always fighting. HAMMER. But they can't live without each other. BUFFE [_to Hammer_]. Aren't you lonely since Kruger died? HAMMER. It is lonesome sometimes, but I have more room now. BUFFE. My wrists are so full of rheumatism I can hardly bend them any more. HAMMER. There's something the matter with all of us. How is your throat, Helms? HELMS. Pretty good. [_There is silence again._] HANSEN. Fine weather to-day. JOHNSTON. Regular birthday weather. HAMMER. On my birthday it always rains. HANSEN [_points to the window_]. You can see the sun from here. BUFFE. I read in the papers about your son-in-law's appointment. HELMS [_shortly_]. Yes? JOHNSTON. Yes, we must congratulate you over again. HANSEN. Helms is the luckiest man in the place. HAMMER. Has your grandson been here yet? HELMS. No. BUFFE. Of course he's coming. HELMS. I don't know. JOHNSTON. Of course he'll come on your birthday. He's a fine young fellow. HANSEN. Yes, indeed, Helms, you should be proud of him. HAMMER [_sees Knut's portrait_]. There he is. [_All except Helms and Bolling look at the picture._] HANSEN. Looks something like his grandfather. JOHNSTON. Yes, it's a striking resemblance. HAMMER. The nose. JOHNSTON. And the eyes--look at the eyes. HANSEN. Yes. BUFFE. We are looking at his grandson's picture, Bolling. [_Bolling stares indifferently. Helms casts apprehensive glances at Krakau._] HAMMER. Look at the gifts. HANSEN. He's a lucky man. JOHNSTON [_with a sigh_]. Ah yes, when you have your family-- BUFFE [_showing the stockings_]. Helms got some wonderful birthday presents, Bolling. BOLLING [_feeling them_]. Good wool. HANSEN [_suddenly_]. What is Krakau doing over there? HELMS [_angrily_]. Yes, why don't you stop skulking over there like a homeless dog. BUFFE [_to Hammer_]. They have quarreled. HAMMER. I guess so. [_To Hansen._] Have they had a fight? HANSEN. I don't know. JOHNSTON. That's right, be sociable, Krakau. HELMS [_irritably_]. Why don't you get the wine, Krakau? KRAKAU. How should I know-- HELMS [_interrupts_]. You know it is in the closet. [_Krakau takes bottle and glasses from the cupboard._] HAMMER [_delighted_]. Did you say wine? BUFFE. Wine! Did you hear? HANSEN. You might think Helms was a postal inspector himself. JOHNSTON. More than that! He's a millionaire in disguise. Krakau can tell you--he has stockings full of good red gold.