EYOLF. [Shyly.] No, Papa, I won't go down to the boys to-day.
ALLMERS. Why not?
EYOLF. Oh, because I have these clothes on.
ALLMERS. [Knitting his brows.] Do you mean that they make fun of—of your pretty clothes?
EYOLF. [Evasively.] No, they daren't—for then I would thrash them.
ALLMERS. Aha!—then why—?
EYOLF. You see, they are so naughty, these boys. And then they say I can never be a soldier.
ALLMERS. [With suppressed indignation.] Why do they say that, do you think?
EYOLF. I suppose they are jealous of me. For you know, Papa, they are so poor, they have to go about barefoot.
ALLMERS. [Softly, with choking voice.] Oh, Rita—how it wrings my heart!