SKI, SCHNAASE, MRS. SCHNAASE,
JOSUPEIT, LICENTIATE SCHROCK and others enter and dispose themselves in
groups before and behind the Oleanders.)

RAABE, SR. (puts his hand up to his side). I don't know, but that
cemetery put a stitch into my side.

SCHNAASE. Yes, that was a nasty, cold snow. If we only get something to
eat soon!... So we can warm up!

VON TIEDEMANN. Ought to be a bit careful of yourself at your age, Mr.
Raabe!

RAABE. Why, how old _am_ I? Seventy!

VON TIEDEMANN. Not worth mentioning, eh? Prime of life!... How old
_was_ Warkentin?

SCHNAASE. Why we just heard about that in the sermon, sixty-two!

VON TIEDEMANN. Not very old!

RAABE. Yes, that's the way they go ...

SCHNAASE. To the grand army, eh Raabe, old boy? Who knows when we will
get our orders.

RAABE. It will be our turn next.

VON TIEDEMANN. Don't say that! It is not a matter of age! Look at
Warkentin, did he give evidence of his end?

SCHNAASE. The affair with his son put him over, or he would be here
today.

VON TIEDEMANN (looks around). Why, where is the young man?

SCHNAASE. Pretty nice fellow in other respects!

VON TIEDEMANN. He will have a deuce of a time if he intends to farm
here. You can't pick that up helter skelter. Has any one heard? Does he
intend to take it on? Or is he going to sell?

[He turns toward the rear. Meanwhile ANTOINETTE, PAUL, AND
GLYSZINSKI have entered from the right and have joined a group of
guests in the background.]

RAABE. In the old days the son always followed in the footsteps of his
father. The son of a land-owner became a land-owner. That's all out of
style now. Everybody goes to school.

SCHNAASE. Well, your son is doing that very thing, Raabe.

RAABE, JR. (has come forward). Good morning, Mr. Schnaase!

SCHNAASE. Good morning, brother student!

RAABE, JR. Well, pa?

RAABE. Well, my son?

SCHNAASE. Keeping right after beerology, young man?

RAABE, JR. Purty well, thanks! A fellow guzzles his way through.

SCHNAASE. How many semesters does this make, Mr. Raabe?

RAABE, JR. Mebbie you'd better not ask about that.

RAABE. How many semesters? Twelve! Isn't that it, my son?

RAABE, JR. Astoundingly correct!

SCHNAASE. Then I suppose you'll tackle the examinations one of these
days, Mr. Raabe?

RAABE, JR. There's plenty of time.

RAABE. Just let him study his fill! I'm not at all in favor of too much
hurry! He'll get office and emoluments soon enough.