My friend, you’re making a great mistake. We’re both in a hurry, and so, to save time, I’ll explain the reason of the whole affair. You are, with your own lips you told me so, No sinner on the so-called heroic scale,— Scarce middling even—— PEER. Ah, now you’re beginning To talk common sense—— THE BUTTON-MOULDER. Just have patience a bit— But to call you a good man were going too far.— PEER. Well, you know I have never laid claim to that. THE BUTTON-MOULDER. You’re nor one thing nor t’other then, only so-so. A sinner of really grandiose style Is nowadays not to be met on the highways. It wants much more than merely to wallow in mire; For both vigour and earnestness go to a sin. PEER. Ay, it’s very true that remark of yours; One has to lay on, like the old Berserkers. THE BUTTON-MOULDER. You, friend, on the other hand, took your sin lightly. PEER. Only outwardly, friend, like a splash of mud. THE BUTTON-MOULDER. Ah, we’ll soon be at one now. The sulphur pool Is no place for you, who but plashed in the mire. PEER. And in consequence, friend, I may go as I came? THE BUTTON-MOULDER. No, in consequence, friend, I must melt you up. PEER. What tricks are these that you’ve hit upon At home here, while I’ve been in foreign parts? THE BUTTON-MOULDER. The custom’s as old as the Snake’s creation; It’s designed to prevent loss of good material. You’ve worked at the craft—you must know that often A casting turns out, to speak plainly, mere dross; The buttons, for instance, have sometimes no loop to them. What did you do then? PEER. Flung the rubbish away. THE BUTTON-MOULDER. Ah, yes; Jon Gynt was well known for a waster, So long as he’d aught left in wallet or purse. But Master, you see, he is thrifty, he is; And that is why he’s so well-to-do. He flings nothing away as entirely worthless That can be made use of as raw material. Now, you were designed for a shining button On the vest of the world; but your loop gave way; So into the waste-box you needs must go, And then, as they phrase it, be merged in the mass. PEER. You’re surely not meaning to melt me up, With Dick, Tom, and Hal,[131] into something new? THE BUTTON-MOULDER.