Geert.
[Passionately.] Dependent! Don’t be dependent! Is it an honor to do his cleaning! Why not pay for the privilege! Thank him for letting you scrub! Dependent! For mopping the office floor and licking his muddy boots you get fifty cents twice a week and the scraps off their plates.
Jo.
Don’t get so angry, foolish boy!
Kneir.
Oh, what a row I’ll get Saturday!
Geert.
A row, you? Why should he row with you? If you hadn’t all your life allowed this braggart who began with nothing to walk over you and treat you as a slave, while father and my brothers lost their lives on the sea making money for him, you’d give him a scolding and damn his hide for his insolence in opening his jaw.
Kneir.
I—I—God forbid.