Menders. Well, yes—a good many of my colleagues in the church have a similar expression. 

 Mrs. Alving. But put your pipe down, my dear boy. I don't allow any smoking in here. 

 Oswald (puts down his pipe). All right, I only wanted to try it, because I smoked it once when I was a child. 

 Mrs. Alving. You? 

 Oswald. Yes; it was when I was quite a little chap. And I can remember going upstairs to father's room one evening when he was in very good spirits. 

 Mrs. Alving. Oh, you can't remember anything about those days. 

 Oswald. Yes, I remember plainly that he took me on his knee and let me smoke his pipe. "Smoke, my boy," he said, "have a good smoke, boy!" And I smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was turning quite pale and the perspiration was standing in great drops on my forehead. Then he laughed—such a hearty laugh. 

 Manders. It was an extremely odd thing to do. 

 Mrs. Alving. Dear Mr. Manders, Oswald only dreamt it. 

 Oswald. No indeed, mother, it was no dream. Because—don't you remember—you came into the room and carried me off to the nursery, where I was sick, and I saw that you were crying. Did father often play such tricks? 

 Manders. In his young days he was full of fun— 

 Oswald. And, for all that, he did so much with his life—so much that was good and useful, I mean—short as his life was. 

 Manders. Yes, my dear Oswald Alving, you have inherited the name of a man who undoubtedly was both energetic and worthy. Let us hope it will be a spur to your energies. 

 Oswald. It ought to be, certainly. 

 Manders. In any case it was nice of you to come home for the day that is to honour his memory. 

 Oswald. I could do no less for my father. 

 Mrs. Alving. And to let me keep him so long here—that's the nicest part of what he has done. 

 Manders. Yes, I hear you are going to spend the winter at home. 

 Prev. P 19/70 next