STENSGÅRD. Ah, Mr. Lundestad! LUNDESTAD. You here alone? If you have no objection, I should like to have a little talk with you. STENSGÅRD. With pleasure. LUNDESTAD. In the first place, let me say that if any one has told you that I have said anything to your disadvantage, you musn’t believe it. STENSGÅRD. To my disadvantage? What do you mean? LUNDESTAD. Oh, nothing; nothing, I assure you. You see, there are so many busybodies here, that go about doing nothing but setting people by the ears. STENSGÅRD. Well, on the whole—I’m afraid our relations _are_ a little strained. LUNDESTAD. They are quite natural relations, Mr. Stensgård: the relation of the old to the new; it is always so. STENSGÅRD. Oh, come, Mr. Lundestad, you are not so old as all that. LUNDESTAD. Yes indeed, I’m getting old. I have held my seat ever since 1839. It’s time I should be relieved. STENSGÅRD. Relieved? LUNDESTAD. Times change, you see. New problems arise, and for their solution we want new forces. STENSGÅRD. Now, frankly, Mr. Lundestad—are you really going to give up your seat to Monsen? LUNDESTAD. To Monsen? No, certainly not to Monsen. STENSGÅRD. Then I don’t understand—— LUNDESTAD. Suppose, now, I did retire in Monsen’s favour: do you think he would be elected? STENSGÅRD. It’s hard to say. As the preliminary election comes on the day after to-morrow, there may scarcely be time to prepare the public mind; but—— LUNDESTAD. I don’t believe he would manage it. The Chamberlain’s party, my party, would not vote for him. Of course “my party” is a figure of speech; I mean the men of property, the old families, who are settled on their own land and belong to it. They won’t have anything to do with Monsen. Monsen is a newcomer; no one really knows anything about Monsen and his affairs. And then he has had to cut down so much to clear a place for himself—to fell both trees and men, you may say. STENSGÅRD. Well then, if you think he has no chance—— LUNDESTAD. H’m! You are a man of rare gifts, Mr. STENSGÅRD. Providence has dealt lavishly with you. But it has made one little oversight: it ought to have given you one thing more. STENSGÅRD. And what may that be? LUNDESTAD. Tell me—why do you never think of yourself? Why have you no ambition?