g excuse--the only
one, in fact? But I feel as I have said. And I can no more change
this feeling than I can change my own determination not to steal
under any circumstances whatever.

MR. Y. And I suppose you count it a great merit that you cannot--
hm!--steal?

MR. X. No, my disinclination to steal is just as irresistible as
the inclination to do so is irresistible with some people. So it
cannot be called a merit. I cannot do it, and the other one cannot
refrain!--But you understand, of course, that I am not without a
desire to own this gold. Why don't I take it then? Because I
cannot! It's an inability--and the lack of something cannot be
called a merit. There!

[Closes the box with a slam. Stray clouds have cast their shadows
on the landscape and darkened the room now and then. Now it grows
quite dark as when a thunderstorm is approaching.]

MR. X. How close the air is! I guess the storm is coming all
right.

[MR. Y. gets up and shuts the door and all the windows.]

MR. X. Are you afraid of thunder?

MR. Y. It's just as well to be careful.

(They resume their seats at the table.)

MR. X. You're a curious chap! Here you come dropping down like a
bomb a fortnight ago, introducing yourself as a Swedish-American
who is collecting flies for a small museum--

MR. Y. Oh, never mind me now!

MR. X. That's what you always say when I grow tired of talking
about myself and want to turn my attention to you. Perhaps that
was the reason why I took to you as I did--because you let me
talk about myself? All at once we seemed like old friends. There
were no angles about you against which I could bump myself, no
pins that pricked. There was something soft about your whole
person, and you overflowed with that tact which only well-educated
people know how to show. You never made a noise when you came home
late at night or got up early in the morning. You were patient in
small things, and you gave in whenever a conflict seemed
threatening. In a word, you proved yourself the perfect companion!
But you were entirely too compliant not to set me wondering about
you in the long run--and you are too timid, too easily frightened.
It seems almost as if you were made up of two different
personalities. Why, as I sit here looking at your back in the
mirror over there--it is as if I were looking at somebody else.

(MR. Y. turns around and stares at the mirror.)

MR. X. No, you cannot get a glimpse of your own back, man!--In
fron