Mr. Y. gives a violent start, in turn puts the book down and takes it up—pretends to look for another book on the shelf.
Mr. X. What oppressive weather! I quite think we shall have thunder.
Mr. Y. Really, old man? Why do you think so?
Mr. X. The bells are ringing so dully—the flies are stinging, the hens are clucking, I should be out fishing, but couldn’t find a worm. Don’t you feel nervous?
Mr. Y.[Reflectively.] I? Oh no!
Mr. X. My dear man, you look the whole time as though you were expecting a regular thunderstorm.
Mr. Y.[Gives a start.] Do I?
Mr. X. Well, you’ll be leaving to-morrow with me. What’s the news? Here’s the post. [Takes up a letter from the table.] Ah! My heart beats like anything each time I open a letter—nothing but debts, debts, debts. Have you ever been in debt?
Mr. Y.[Shifting about.] No.
Mr. X. Quite so, then my dear chap, you’ve no idea what I feel like when unpaid bills come in. [He reads letter.] Rent unpaid, landlord on the warpath, wife in despair. And I who sit here up to my ears in gold. [Opens an iron-bound chest which is on the table on either side of which the two men are sitting.] Look here, I’ve got here about six thousand kronors’ worth of gold which I dug up in fourteen days! I only want these armlets here for the three hundred and fifty kronors that I actually require. And with all this I ought to do myself thundering well. I ought, of course, at once to get drawings made, and blocks cut for my book, and then get it published, and then travel. Why don’t I do it, do you think?