What in the devil’s name do you want here? ASLAKSEN. I _must_ speak to you. You promised me yesterday an account of the founding of the League, and—— STENSGÅRD. I can’t give it you; it must wait till another time. ASLAKSEN. Impossible, Mr. Stensgård; the paper appears to-morrow morning. STENSGÅRD. Nonsense! It has all to be altered. The matter has entered on a new phase; new forces have come into play. What I said about Chamberlain Bratsberg must be entirely recast before it can appear. ASLAKSEN. Oh, that about the Chamberlain, _that’s_ in type already. STENSGÅRD. Then it must come out of type again. ASLAKSEN. Not go in? STENSGÅRD. I won’t have it published in that form. Why do you stare at me? Do you think I don’t know how to manage the affairs of the League? ASLAKSEN. Oh, certainly; but you must let me tell you—— STENSGÅRD. No arguing, Aslaksen; that I can’t and won’t stand! ASLAKSEN. Do you know, Mr. Stensgård, that you are doing your best to take the bread out of my mouth? Do you know that? STENSGÅRD. No; I know nothing of the sort. ASLAKSEN. But you are. Last winter, before you came here, my paper was looking up. I edited it myself, I must tell you, and I edited it on a principle. STENSGÅRD. You? ASLAKSEN. Yes, I!—I said to myself: it’s the great public that supports a paper; now the great public is the bad public—that comes of the local situation; and the bad public will have a bad paper. So you see I edited it—— STENSGÅRD. Badly! Yes, that’s undeniable. ASLAKSEN. Well, and I prospered by it. But then you came and brought ideas into the district. The paper took on a colour, and then Lundestad’s supporters all fell away. The subscribers that are left won’t pay their subscriptions—— STENSGÅRD. Ah, but the paper has become a good one. ASLAKSEN. I can’t live on a good paper. You were to make things lively; you were to grapple with abuses, as you promised yesterday. The bigwigs were to be pilloried; the paper was to be filled with things people were bound to read—and now, you leave me in the lurch—— STENSGÅRD. Ho-ho! You think I am going to keep you supplied with libels! No, thank you, my good sir! ASLAKSEN. Mr. Stensgård, you musn’t drive me to desperation, or you’ll repent it. STENSGÅRD. What do you mean?