SJÖBLOM. I ought really to be mad at you.
STRANGER. Well, go on and be so! However, you might tell me the reason. That has a tendency to straighten matters out.
SJÖBLOM. Do you remember——
STRANGER. Unfortunately, I have an excellent memory.
SJÖBLOM. Do you remember a boy named Robert?
STRANGER. Yes, a regular rascal who knew how to draw.
SJÖBLOM. And I was to go to the Academy in order to become a real painter, an artist. But just about that time-colour-blindness was all the go. You were studying at the Technological Institute then, and so you had to test my eyes before your father would consent to send me to the art classes. For that reason you brought two skeins of yarn from the dye works, one red and the other green, and then you asked me about them. I answered—called the red green and the green red—and that was the end of my career——
STRANGER. But that was as it should be.
SJÖBLOM. No—for the truth of it was, I could distinguish the colours, but not—the names. And that wasn't found out until I was thirty-seven——
STRANGER. That was an unfortunate story, but I didn't know better, and so you'll have to forgive me.