ANDERSON. Perhaps he came on account of the insurance.
ANDERSON. Not that one! Then he would have asked in a different way.
ANDERSON. But he looked like the dyer just the same.
ANDERSON. Only he was taller.
GUSTAFSON. Now, I remember something—I should have a bridal bouquet ready for to-night, and I should go to my son's wedding, but I have no flowers, and my black coat has been burned. Wouldn't that make you—Mrs. Westerlund was to furnish the myrtle for the bride's crown, being her godmother—that's the myrtle she stole a shoot of from the dyer's cook, who got hers from the dyer's first wife—she who ran away—and I was to make a crown of it, and I've clean forgotten it—well, if I ain't the worst fool that ever walked the earth! [He opens the inn door] Mrs. Westerlund, can I have the myrtle now, and I'll do the job!—I say, can I have that myrtle! Wreath, too, you say—have you got enough for it?—No?—Well, then I'll let the whole wedding go hang, that's all there is to it!—Let them walk up to the minister's and have him splice them together, but it'll make the stone-cutter mad as a hornet.—What do you think I should do?—No, I can't—haven't slept a wink the whole night.—It's too much for a poor human creature.—Yes, I am a ninny, I know—go for me, will you!—Oh, there's the pot—thanks! And then I need scissors, which I haven't got—and wire—and string—where am I to get them from?—No, of course, nobody wants to break off his work for a thing like that.—I'm tired of the whole mess—work fifty years, and then have it go up in smoke! I haven't got strength to begin over again—and the way it comes all at once, blow on blow—did you ever! I'm going to run away from it! [He goes out.
RUDOLPH WALSTRÖM. [Enters, evidently upset, badly dressed, his hands discoloured by the dyes] Is it all out now, Anderson?
ANDERSON. Yes, now it's out.
RUDOLPH. Has anything been discovered?
ANDERSON. That's a question! What's buried when it snows comes to light when it thaws!
RUDOLPH. What do you mean, Anderson?