[SCENE—Simple room in a country house; door and window at back, through which one sees a country landscape. In the middle of the room a large dining table; on one side of it books and writing materials and on the other side some antiques, a microscope, insect boxes, alcohol jars. To the left of scene a book-shelf, and all the other furnishings are those of a country gentleman. Mr. Y. enters in his shirt-sleeves, carrying an insect net and a botanical tin box. He goes directly to the book-shelf, takes down a book and reads stealthily from it. The after-service bell of a country church rings. The landscape and room are flooded with sunshine. Now and then one hears the clucking of hens outside. Mr. X. comes in also in shirt-sleeves. Mr. Y. starts nervously, returns the book to its place, and pretends to look for another book on the shelf.]
MR. X. What oppressive heat! We'll surely have a thunder-shower.
MR. Y. Yes? What makes you think so?
MR. X. The bells sound like it, the flies bite so, and the hens are cackling. I wanted to go fishing, but I couldn't find a single worm. Don't you feel rather nervous?
MR. Y. [Reflectively]. I? Well, yes.
MR. X. But you always look as if you expected a thunder-shower.
MR. Y. Do I?
MR. X. Well, as you are to start off on your travels again tomorrow, it's not to be wondered at if you have the knapsack fever. What's the news? Here's the post. [Takes up letters from the table.] Oh, I have palpitation of the heart every time I open a letter. Nothing but debts, debts! Did you ever have any debts?
MR. Y. [Reflecting]. No-o-o.
MR. X. Well, then, of course you can't understand how it feels to have unpaid bills come in. [He reads a letter.] The rent owing—the landlord clamoring—and my wife in despair. And I, I sitting up to my elbows in gold. [Opens an iron-mounted case, which stands on the table. They both sit down, one on each side of the case.] Here is six thousand crowns' worth of gold that I've dug up in two weeks. This bracelet alone would bring the three hundred and fifty crowns I need. And with all of it I should be able to make a brilliant career for myself. The first thing I should do would be to have drawings made and cuts of the figures for my treatises. After that I would print—and then clear out. Why do you suppose I don't do this?