Strawman.
That I have ever swerved a single jot
From social prescript,—is a monstrous lie.
Falk.
Good.
[Clapping Stiver on the shoulder.
Here's a friend who will not put me by.
We'll start with Stiver's lyric ecstasies.
Stiver [after a glance of horror at Strawman].
Are you quite mad! Nay then I must be heard!
You dare accuse me for a poet—
Miss Jay.
How—!
Falk.
Your office has averred it anyhow.
Stiver [in towering anger].
Sir, by our office nothing is averred.
Falk.
Well, leave me then, you also: I have by me
One comrade yet whose loyalty will last.
"A true heart's story" Lind will not deny me,
Whose troth's too tender for the ocean blast,
Who for his mistress makes surrender of
His fellow-men—pure quintessence of Love!
