Of course! Of course! And today, as an honest man, I must confess that what I have been saying did not hold good; for I lost my reverent mood in church, being annoyed by the vacant seat beside me, and found it again under the pear-tree in my garden. You are astonished? But look! I went sadly and dejectedly home, like one whose harvest has been ruined by hail; for children are like fields--we sow good corn in them and weeds sprout up. Under the pear-tree, which the caterpillars have half eaten up, I stood still. "Yes," I thought, "the boy is like this tree, empty and barren." Then I suddenly imagined that I was very thirsty, and absolutely had to go over to the tavern. I deceived myself--it wasn't to get a glass of beer that I wanted to go; it was to seek out the young man and take him to task in the tavern, where I knew he was sure to be. I was just about to start, when the sensible old tree let fall a juicy pear right at my feet, as if to say: Take that for your thirst, and for slandering me by comparing me with that good-for-nothing son of yours. I deliberated a moment, took a bite of it, and went into the house. LEONARD. Do you know that the apothecary is on the verge of bankruptcy? ANTONY. What do I care? LEONARD. Don't you care at all ANTONY. Surely! I am a Christian--the man has several children! LEONARD. And still more creditors. The children, too, are creditors in a way. ANTONY. Happy is he who is neither the one nor the other! LEONARD. I thought you yourself-- ANTONY. That was settled up long ago. LEONARD. You are a prudent man; of course you immediately demanded your money when you saw that the green-grocer was about to fail. ANTONY. Yes, I need not tremble any more with the fear of losing it--it was lost long ago! LEONARD. You are joking! ANTONY. In all seriousness! CLARA (_looks in at the door_). Did you call, father? ANTONY. Are your ears beginning to ring already? We had not talked about you yet! CLARA. The weekly paper! LEONARD. You are a philosopher! ANTONY. What do you mean by that? LEONARD. You know how to compose yourself. ANTONY. I wear a mill-stone as a cravat sometimes, instead of going to the river with it. That gives one a strong back. LEONARD. Let him who can imitate you. ANTONY. He who has such a gallant fellow to help him bear it, as I seem to have found in you, ought to be able to dance under the burden. You have grown quite pale. I call that sympathy! LEONARD. I hope you don't misunderstand me! ANTONY. Certainly not! [_He drums on a dresser._] That wood is not transparent, is it? LEONARD. I do not understand you! ANTONY. How foolish it was of our grandfather Adam to take Eve, when she was naked and destitute, and did not even bring a fig-leaf with her. We two, you and I, would have scourged her out of Paradise as a tramp! What do you think? LEONARD. You are exasperated with your son.--I have come to you regarding your daughter-- ANTONY.