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QUEER QUERIES.—­COMBUSTIBLES.—­I have five hundred barrels of Kerosene Oil, and three hundred of Paraffin, stored in a large room in the basement of my premises.  Upstairs, on the top floor, there are about two hundred assistants at work.  I now want to use part of the same room for the manufacture of fireworks.  The place I don’t think is too dark, as I have it constantly lighted by naked gas-jets.  Would there be any need to take out a licence?  The surrounding property, although very crowded, is only of a poor description.—­INSURED.

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MR. PUNCH’S POCKET IBSEN.

(CONDENSED AND REVISED VERSION BY MR. P.’S OWN HARMLESS IBSENITE.)

NO.  II.—­NORA; OR, THE BIRD-CAGE (ET DIKKISVOeIT).

ACT III.

The same Room—­except that the sofa has been slightly moved, and one of the Japanese cotton-wool frogs has fallen into the fireplace.  Mrs. LINDEN sits and reads a book—­but without understanding a single line.

Mrs. Linden (laying down book, as a light tread is heard outside).  Here he is at last! (KROGSTAD comes in, and stands in the doorway.) Mr. KROGSTAD, I have given you a secret rendezvous in this room, because it belongs to my employer, Mr. HELMER, who has lately discharged you.  The etiquette of Norway permits these slight freedoms on the part of a female Cashier.

Krogs. It does.  Are we alone? (NORA is heard overhead dancing the Tarantella.) Yes, I hear Mrs. HELMER’s fairy footfall above.  She dances the Tarantella now—­by-and-by she will dance to another tune! (Changing his tone.) I don’t exactly know why you should wish to have this interview—­after jilting me as you did, long ago, though?

Mrs. L. Don’t you? I do.  I am a widow—­a Norwegian widow.  And it has occurred to me that there may be a nobler side to your nature somewhere—­though you have not precisely the best of reputations.

[Illustration:  “Oh, you prillil squillikins!”]

Krogs. Right.  I am a forger, and a money-lender; I am on the staff of the Norwegian Punch—­a most scurrilous paper.  More, I have been blackmailing Mrs. HELMER by trading on her fears like a low cowardly cur.  But, in spite of all that—­(clasping his hands)—­there are the makings of a fine man about me yet, CHRISTINA!

Mrs. L. I believe you—­at least, I’ll chance it.  I want some one to care for, and I’ll marry you.

Krogs. (suspiciously).  On condition, I suppose, that I suppress the letter denouncing Mrs. HELMER?

Mrs. L. How can you think so?  I am her dearest friend:  but I can still see her faults, and it is my firm opinion that a sharp lesson will do her all the good in the world.  She is much too comfortable.  So leave the letter in the box, and come home with me.