aterials and on the
other side some antiques, a microscope, insect boxes, alcohol jars. To
the left of scene a book-shelf, and all the other furnishings are those
of a country gentleman. Mr. Y. enters in his shirt-sleeves, carrying an
insect net and a botanical tin box. He goes directly to the book-shelf,
takes down a book and reads stealthily from it. The after-service bell
of a country church rings. The landscape and room are flooded with
sunshine. Now and then one hears the clucking of hens outside. Mr. X.
comes in also in shirt-sleeves. Mr. Y. starts nervously, returns the
book to its place, and pretends to look for another book on the shelf.]

MR. X. What oppressive heat! We'll surely have a thunder-shower.

MR. Y. Yes? What makes you think so?

MR. X. The bells sound like it, the flies bite so, and the hens are
cackling. I wanted to go fishing, but I couldn't find a single worm.
Don't you feel rather nervous?

MR. Y. [Reflectively]. I? Well, yes.

MR. X. But you always look as if you expected a thunder-shower.

MR. Y. Do I?

MR. X. Well, as you are to start off on your travels again tomorrow,
it's not to be wondered at if you have the knapsack fever. What's the
news? Here's the post. [Takes up letters from the table.] Oh, I have
palpitation of the heart every time I open a letter. Nothing but debts,
debts! Did you ever have any debts?

MR. Y. [Reflecting]. No-o-o.

MR. X. Well, then, of course you can't understand how it feels to have
unpaid bills come in. [He reads a letter.] The rent owing--the landlord
clamoring--and my wife in despair. And I, I sitting up to my elbows in
gold. [Opens an iron-mounted case, which stands on the table. They both
sit down, one on each side of the case.] Here is six thousand crowns'
worth of gold that I've dug up in two weeks. This bracelet alone would
bring the three hundred and fifty crowns I need. And with all of it I
should be able to make a brilliant career for myself. The first thing I
should do would be to have drawings made and cuts of the figures for
my treatises. After that I would print--and then clear out. Why do you
suppose I don't do this?

MR. Y. It must be because you are afraid of being found out.

MR. X. Perhaps that, too. But don't you think that a man of my
intelligence should be able to manage it so that it wouldn't be found
out? I always go alone to dig out there on the hills--without witnesses.
Would it be remarkable to put a little something in o