inite. At different times I made
him out to be a teacher who had never got his licence, a non-
commissioned officer, a druggist, a government clerk, a detective--
and like you, he looked as if made out of two pieces, for the
front of him never quite fitted the back. One day I happened to
read in a newspaper about a big forgery committed by a well-known
government official. Then I learned that my indefinite gentleman
had been a partner of the forger's brother, and that his name was
Strawman. Later on I learned that the aforesaid Strawman used to
run a circulating library, but that he was now the police reporter
of a big daily. How in the world could I hope to establish a
connection between the forgery, the police, and my little man's
peculiar manners? It was beyond me; and when I asked a friend
whether Strawman had ever been punished for something, my friend
couldn't answer either yes or no--he just didn't know! [Pause.]

MR. Y. Well, had he ever been--punished?

MR. X. No, he had not. [Pause.]

MR. Y. And that was the reason, you think, why the police had such
an attraction for him, and why he was so afraid of offending
people?

MR. X. Exactly!

MR. Y. And did you become acquainted with him afterward?

MR. X. No, I didn't want to. [Pause.]

MR. Y. Would you have been willing to make his acquaintance if he
had been--punished?

MR. X. Perfectly!

(MR. Y. rises and walks back and forth several times.)

MR. X. Sit still! Why can't you sit still?

MR. Y. How did you get your liberal view of human conditions? Are
you a Christian?

MR. X. Oh, can't you see that I am not?

(MR. Y. makes a face.)

MR. X. The Christians require forgiveness. But I require
punishment in order that the balance, or whatever you may call it,
be restored. And you, who have served a term, ought to know the
difference.

MR. Y. [Stands motionless and stares at MR. X., first with wild,
hateful eyes, then with surprise and admiration] How--could--you--
know--that?

MR. X. Why, I could see it.

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

MR. X, Oh, with a little practice. It is an art, like many others.
But don't let us talk of it any more. [He looks at his watch,
arranges a document on the table, dips a pen in the ink-well, and
hands it to MR. Y.] I must be thinking of my tangled affairs.
Won't you please witness my signature on this note here? I am
going to turn it in to the bank at Malmo tomorrow, when I go to
the city with you.

MR.