HILMAR. There would be some sense in a gun; the very act of pulling the trigger braces your nerves. OLAF. And then I could shoot bears, Uncle. But father won’t let me. MRS. BERNICK. You really must not put such ideas into his head, Hilmar. HILMAR. Ha—there we have the rising generation nowadays! Goodness knows there’s plenty of talk about pluck and daring, but it all ends in play; no one has any real craving for the discipline that lies in looking danger manfully in the face. Don’t stand and point at me with your bow, stupid; it might go off, OLAF. No, Uncle, there’s no bolt in it. HILMAR. How do you know? There may very likely be a bolt in it. Take it away, I tell you!—Why the deuce have you never gone to America in one of your father’s ships? There you could go buffalo-hunting or fighting the redskins. MRS. BERNICK. Oh, Hilmar—— OLAF. I should like to very much, Uncle; and then perhaps I might meet Uncle Johan and Aunt Lona. HILMAR. H’m—don’t talk nonsense. MRS. BERNICK. Now you can go down the garden again, Olaf. OLAF. Mayn’t I go out into the street, mother? MRS. BERNICK. Yes; but take care not to go too far. [OLAF _runs out through the garden gate._ RÖRLUND. You ought not to put such notions into the child’s head, Mr. Tönnesen. HILMAR. No, of course, he’s to be a mere stick-in-the-mud, like so many others. RÖRLUND. Why do you not go to America yourself? HILMAR. I? With my complaint? Of course no one here has any consideration for that. But besides—one has duties towards the society one belongs to. There must be _some one_ to hold high the banner of the ideal. Ugh, there he is shouting again! THE LADIES. Who is shouting? HILMAR. Oh, I don’t know. They are talking rather loud in there, and it makes me so nervous. MRS. RUMMEL. It is my husband you hear, Mr. Tönnesen; you must remember he is so accustomed to addressing great assemblies—— RÖRLUND. The others are not whispering either, it seems to me. HILMAR. No, sure enough, when it’s a question of keeping the purse-strings tight——; everything here ends in paltry material calculations. Ugh! MRS. BERNICK. At least that is better than it used to be, when everything ended in dissipation. MRS. LYNGE.