LEONARD (who, up to this time, has been reading the weekly paper).

The fellow doesn’t come from here—­he can tell all the lies he likes.

MOTHER.

I asked him:  “Why don’t you wait until somebody orders a grave dug?” “I was invited to a wedding today,” he said, “and I am enough of a prophet to know that I would still feel the effects of it in my head tomorrow if I went.  Now of course some body has been inconsiderate enough to go and die, so that in the morning I would have to get up early and would not be able to sleep it off.”

ANTONY.

“You clown!” I would have said, “supposing now the grave doesn’t fit?”

MOTHER.

I said that too, but he shook sharp answers out of his sleeve, as the devil does fleas.  “I took the measurement for Veit, the weaver,” he said, “who, like King Saul, towers a head above everybody else.  Now, come who may, he will not find his house too small; and if it is too large, that doesn’t hurt anybody but me, for, as an honest man, I never charge for a single foot more than the length of the coffin.”  I threw my flowers into the grave and said:  “Now it is occupied!”

ANTONY.

I think the fellow was only joking, and even that is sinful enough.  To dig graves in advance is to set the trap of death too soon; the scoundrel who does it ought to be driven out of the business.

[To LEONARD, who is still reading.]

What’s the news?  Is there any philanthropist looking for a poor widow, who can use a few hundred thalers, or, vice versa, a poor widow looking for a philanthropist who can supply them?

LEONARD.

The police announce the theft of some jewelry.  Strange enough!  It seems that, in spite of the hard times, there are still people among us who can own jewels!

ANTONY.

The theft of some jewelry?  Where?

LEONARD.

Over at Wolfram’s.

ANTONY.

At—­impossible!  Carl polished a desk there a few days ago!

LEONARD.

They were taken from a desk.  Right!

MOTHER (to Master ANTONY).

May God forgive you for saying that!

ANTONY.

You are right—­it was a vile thought!

MOTHER.

To your son you are only half a father!  I must tell you that!

ANTONY.

Wife!  We’ll not discuss that today!

MOTHER.

He is not like you—­but is that any reason why he must be bad?

ANTONY.

Then where is he now?  The noon hour struck long ago!  I’ll wager the dinner is burning and spoiling, because Clara has secret orders not to set the table until he is here!

MOTHER.

Where do you think he is?  At the worst he is only bowling, and he has to go the longest way about so that you won’t see him.  Naturally it takes him a long time to get back!—­I cannot see what you have against the innocent game.