PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI. VOL. 100. May 30, 1891. MR. PUNCH'S POCKET IBSEN. (_CONDENSED AND REVISED VERSION BY MR. P.'S OWN HARMLESS IBSENITE._) NO. IV.--THE WILD DUCK. ACT III. _HIALMAR's Studio. A photograph has just been taken, GINA and HEDVIG are tidying up._ _Gina_ (_apologetically_). There _should_ have been a luncheon-party in this Act, with Dr. RELLING and MÖLVIK, who would have been in a state of comic "chippiness," after his excesses overnight. But, as it hadn't much to do with such plot as there is, we cut it out. It came cheaper. Here comes your father back from his walk with that lunatic, Young WERLE--you had better go and play with the Wild Duck. [_HEDVIG goes_. _Hialmar_ (_coming in_). I have been for a walk with GREGERS; he meant well--but it was tiring. GINA, he has told me that, fifteen years ago, before I married you, you were rather a Wild Duck, so to speak. (_Severely._) Why haven't you been writhing in penitence and remorse all these years, eh? _Gina_ (_sensibly_). Why? Because I have had other things to do. _You_ wouldn't take any photographs, so I _had_ to. _Hialmar_. All the same--it was a swamp of deceit. And where am I to find elasticity of spirit to bring out my grand invention now? I used to shut myself up in the parlour, and ponder and cry, when I thought that the effort of inventing anything would sap my vitality. (_Pathetically._) I _did_ want to leave you an inventor's widow; but I never shall now, particularly as I haven't made up my mind what to invent yet. Yes, it's all over. Rabbits are trash, and even poultry palls. And I'll wring that cursed Wild Duck's neck! _Gregers_ (_coming in beaming_). Well, so you've got it over. _Wasn't_ it soothing and ennobling, eh? and _ain't_ you both obliged to me? _Gina_. No; it's my opinion you'd better have minded your own business, [_Weeps._ _Gregers_ (_in great surprise_). Bless me! Pardon my Norwegian _naïveté_ but this ought really to be quite a new starting-point. Why, I confidently expected to have found you both beaming!--Mrs. EKDAL, being so illiterate, may take some little time to see it--but you, HIALMAR, with your deep mind, surely _you_ feel a new consecration, eh? _Hialmar_ (_dubiously_). Oh--er--yes. I suppose so--in a sort of way. [_HEDVIG runs in, overjoyed._ _Hedvig_. Father, only see what Mrs. SÖRBY has given, me for a birthday present--a beautiful deed of gift! [_Shows it._ _Hialmar_ (_eluding her_). Ha! Mrs. SÖRBY, the family Housekeeper. My father's sight failing! HEDVIG in goggles! What vistas of heredity these astonishing coincidences open up! _I_ am not short-sighted, at all events, and I see it all--all! _This_ is my answer. (_He takes the deed, and tears it across._) Now I have nothing more to do in this house. (_Puts on overcoat._) My home has fallen in ruins about me. (_Bursts into tears._) My hat!