Scene 7
Room in Anthony’s house. Evening.
Karl (enters).
No one at home! If I didn’t know the rat-hole under the threshold where they keep the key, when they all go out, I wouldn’t have been able to get in. Well, that wouldn’t have mattered. I could run round the town twenty times and imagine there was no greater pleasure in the world than using your legs. Let’s have a light. (Lights up.) The matches are just where they used to be, I’ll bet, because in this house we’ve got twice ten commandments. “Put your hat on the third nail, not the fourth.” “You must be sleepy at half-past nine.” “You’ve no right to be chilly before Martinmas and no right to sweat after it.” And that’s on a level with “Thou shalt fear God and love Him.” I’m thirsty. (Calls.) Mother! Phew! I’d forgotten she’d gone where there’s no waiters to serve you. I didn’t blubber in that gloomy cell when I heard them ringing the bell for her; but—you red-coat! You didn’t let me have my last throw in the skittle-alley, although I’d the ball in my hand. I won’t give you time to breathe your last, when I find you by yourself. And that may be to-night. I know where to find you at ten o’clock. And then off to sea! What keeps Clara out? I’m as hungry as I’m thirsty. To-day’s Thursday. They’ve had veal broth. If it was winter, there’d have been cabbage; white cabbage up to Shrove Tuesday and green after. That’s as certain as that Thursday comes after Wednesday and that it can’t say to Friday, “Take my place, my feet are tired.”