convicted?

MR. X. Yes, indeed.

[Mr. Y. rises and walks up and down.]

MR. X. Sit still. Why can't you sit quietly.

MR. Y. How did you get such a liberal attitude towards people's conduct?
Are you a Christian?

MR. X. No,--of course I couldn't be,--as you've just heard. The
Christians demand forgiveness, but I demand punishment for the
restoration of balance, or whatever you like to call it, and you, who
have served time, ought to understand that.

MR. Y. [Stops as if transfixed. Regards Mr. X. at first with wild
hatred, them with surprise and wonderment.] How--do--you--know--that?

MR. X. It's plain to be seen.

MR. Y. How? How can you see it?

MR. X. I have taught myself. That's an art, too. But we won't talk about
that matter. [Looks at his watch. Takes out a paper for signing. Dips a
pen and offers it to Mr. Y.] I must think about my muddled affairs. Now
be so kind as to witness my signature on this note, which I must leave
at the bank at Malmoe when I go there with you tomorrow morning.

MR. Y. I don't intend to go by way of Malmoe.

MR. X. No?

MR. Y. No.

MR. X. But you can witness my signature nevertheless.

MR. Y. No-o. I never sign my name to papers--

MR. X.--Any more! That's the fifth time that you have refused to write
your name. The first time was on a postal receipt,--and it was then
that I began to observe you; and now, I see that you have a horror of
touching pen and ink. You haven't sent a letter since you've been here.
Just one postal-card, and that you wrote with a blue pencil. Do you
see now how I have figured out your mis-step? Furthermore, this is the
seventh time that you have refused to go to Malmoe, where you have not
gone since you have been here. Nevertheless you came here from America
just to see Malmoe; and every morning you have walked southward three
miles and a half to the windmill hill just to see the roofs of Malmoe;
also, when you stand at the right-hand window, through the third
window-pane to the left, counting from the bottom up, you can see the
turrets of the castle, and the chimneys on the _state prison_. Do you
see now that it is not that I am so clever but that you are so stupid?

MR. Y. Now you hate me.

MR. X. No.

MR. Y. Yes, you do, you must.

MR. X. No--see, here's my hand.

MR. Y. [Kisses the proffered hand].

MR. X. [Drawing back his hand]. What dog's trick is that?

MR. Y. Pardon! But thou art the first to offer me his hand after
knowing-