Yes, I knew of it, and yet you should not have said it; you should not have repeated it. Twelve years ago, in our quarrel, when you raised your whip to me--and I reached for the carving-knife--no, no--I should not have done that. You should not have raised your whip, nor I the knife. That is the reason I refused anything from you at all. Now you know it. From that day I swore to scratch the gold from the ground with my finger nails and fling it in your face. From that day I hated you--and rightly so!
Brauer.
And all that because I saved your and your father's name from dishonor and disgrace?
George.
No! But because you turned that same deed into a weapon to crush my youthful pride.
Brauer.
My boy, one uses the weapon nearest to hand.
George.
[Bitterly.] Even if it is only a whip. But then, I see my mistake. I have no right to pride; my fatherly inheritance does not permit it. Give me your gold! I'll take it! All--all!