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 Hans.—I shall never forget what you have done for me

John.—My dear Jan.

Hans (Astonished).—You here at last? Where have you been hanging out?

John.—I had gone to fetch this worthy gentleman, here.

Hans.—Good thing you came back. I have a number of things to ask you.

John.—All in good time, but first permit

Hans.—All in good time! For God’s sake, man, have you not had time enough? Will you explain

Julia (Indicating the death chamber).—Mr. Karvan.

Hans.—You are right. I shall control myself if it chokes me. John, you have done some awful things to me.

John.—Be careful what you say, cousin. Weigh well every word before you speak.

Hans.—Will you tell me how it is possible but no  no—it’s too horrible!

John.—Go on, I’ll stand your fire!

Hans.—What’s the use of asking you. You wrote me that father died six years ago.

Dean.—So, so?

John.—As there is a God above me, cousin, you lie! There was not one word about death in that letter.

Hans.—Do you wish me to show it to you? To be specific you wrote: I am sorry to report that your father succumbed to a paralytic stroke last night.

John.—And didn’t he? For fully nine months he lay without so much as moving a muscle. And ever since he has lain around, never even rising to his feet without help. Now, poor fellow—now he is free. Now he fares better, my never-to-be-forgotten second father. (Wipes eyes.)

Dean.—John told me that you were corresponding. So, so!

Hans.—But this is not all. It seems that I was given our

Ann.—Permit me a word. It occurs to me that I can throw some light on the subject. If it was that second trokestroke [sic] father had, it’s no wonder that John wrote what he did. We all expected father to go any minute.

John.—Exactly! Dr. Crowe himself announced that he could not last a week.

Ann (Speaking, but catching herself).—But still