Doctor.—You could not understand it.
Anton.—I am the coachman of the carriage in which you are riding—I must know everything.
Doctor.—No. It does not concern you.
Anton.—It does concern me, because you are losing your energy. We have no need of any Hamlets.
Doctor (gloomily).—You are mistaken. I have not given up.
Anton.—I see. You close your mouth on this subject. It is not in your character to give up.
Doctor.—No. You must work to have me elected. I would lose doubly if we were bitten.
Anton.—They must have burned you like the deuce, for you hiss dreadfully.
Doctor.—An old story. A peasant did not sleep for six years, did not eat, bent his neck, wounded his hands, and carried logs for a hut. After six years a lord came along, kicked the hut and said: "My castle shall stand here." We are sceptical enough to laugh at such things.
Anton.—He was a real lord!