Jakobsen. It's the hands from the quay and the brewery and the factory and the warehouse. All work is stopped until further orders; but this is pay-day—and there is no pay for them! (The others resume their work.)
Tjaelde (coming forward despairingly). I had forgotten that!
Jakobsen (going up to him). Well, go out and face them, and they will let you know what you are!
Tjaelde (in a low voice, as he takes up his saddle-bag). Here is money, but it is all in gold. Go into the town and get it changed, and pay them!
Mrs. Tjaelde. Yes, do, Jakobsen!
Jakobsen (in lower tones). If you ask me to, ma'am, I—So there is money in this bag? (Opens it.) And all done up in rolls. He meant to bolt, then!—and with the money his people had lent him. And yet you say he is not a scoundrel! (TJAELDE gives a groan. The noise of voices without grows louder.)
Mrs. Tjaelde (in a low voice). Be quick, or we shall have them in here.
Jakobsen. I will go.
The Receiver (interposing). Excuse me, but nothing must be taken away from here until it has been examined and inventoried.
Jakobsen. It is pay-day, and this is the money for the wages.