[_BEIPST has lit his pipe with a fresh match. He limps to the gate, sits down and begins sharpening his scythe anew. Again nothing is heard for a time but the monotonous hammer blows and the groans of the old man, which he interrupts by short oaths when his work will not go to his liking. It has grown considerably lighter._ LOTH [_Steps out of the house door, stands still, stretches himself, and breathes deeply several times._] Ah! The morning air. [_Slowly he goes toward the background until he reaches the gateway. To BEIPST._] Good morning! Up so early? BEIPST [_Squinting at LOTH suspiciously. In a surly tone._] 'Mornin'. [_A brief pause, whereupon BEIPST addresses his scythe which he pulls to and fro in his indignation._] Crooked beast! Well, are ye goin' to? Eksch! Well, well, I'll be ... [_He continues to sharpen it._ LOTH [_Has taken a seat between the handles of a cultivator._] I suppose there's hay harvesting to-day? BEIPST [_Roughly._] Dam' fools go a-cuttin' hay this time o' year. LOTH Well, but you're sharpening a scythe? BEIPST [_To the scythe._] Eksch! You ol'...! [_A brief pause._] LOTH Won't you tell me, though, why you are sharpening your scythe if it is not time for the hay harvest? BEIPST Eh? Don't you need a scythe to cut fodder? LOTH So that's it. You're going to cut fodder? BEIPST Well, what else? LOTH And is it cut every morning? BEIPST Well, d' you want the beasts to starve? LOTH You must show me a little forbearance. You see, I'm a city man; and it isn't possible for me to know things about farming very exactly. BEIPST City folks! Eksh! All of 'em I ever saw thought they knew it all--better'n country folks. LOTH That isn't the case with me.--Can you explain to me, for instance, what kind of an implement this is? I have seen one like it before, to be sure, but the name-- BEIPST That thing that ye're sittin' on? Why, they calls that a cultivator. LOTH To be sure--a cultivator. Is it used here? BEIPST Naw; more's the pity. He lets everything go to hell ... all the land ... lets it go, the farmer does. A poor man would like to have a bit o' land--you can't have grain growin' in your beard, you know. But no! He'd rather let it go to the devil! Nothin' grows excep' weeds an' thistles. LOTH Well, but you can get those out with the cultivator, too. I know that the Icarians had them, too, in order to weed thoroughly the land that had been cleared. BEIPST Where's them I-ca ... what d'you, call 'em? LOTH The Icarians? In America. BEIPST They've got things like that there, too? LOTH Certainly. BEIPST What kind of people is them I-I-ca...? LOTH The Icarians? They are not a special people at all, but men of all nations who have united for a common purpose. They own a considerable tract of land in America which they cultivate together. They share both the work and the profits equally. None of them is poor and there are no poor people among them. BEIPST