Hjalmar. Only a little rabbit shooting now and again. Chiefly for father’s sake, you understand.
Gina. Men folk are such queer creatures; they must always have something to divide themselves with.
Hjalmar (angrily). Yes, yes, of course, we must always have something to divide ourselves with.
Gina. Why that’s exactly what I’m saying.
Hjalmar. Well, h’m! (To Gregers.) And then luckily you see the loft is so situated that no one can hear us shooting. (Putting the pistol on the top shelf of the case.) Don’t touch the pistol, Hedvig! The one barrel’s loaded, remember.
Gregers (looking in through the net). Oh, you’ve a fowling-piece too, I see.
Hjalmar. That’s father’s old gun. You can’t shoot with it now, for there’s something wrong with the lock. But it’s very amusing to have it, all the same, because we can take it all to pieces, and oil it, and then screw it together again. Of course its mostly father who muddles about with such things.
Hedvig (going up to Gregers). Now you can see the wild duck properly.
Gregers. I was just looking at it. One of her wings drops a little it seems to me.
Hjalmar. Well, that’s not so remarkable; you know she was wounded.