Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/121



You think so?

Think? Nay, man, That's sure. She's land in every port, Far as a telescope can scan. You're rich!

'Spite the Succession Court?

[Smiling.]

What of it? That cuts matters short When many fight for pelf and debt. Here no man's interest suffers let.

And what if some day, all the same, Came a coheir to debt and pelf Crying: "I'm he!" and urged his claim?

He'd have to be the devil himself! Just look to me! None else has here The smallest right to interfere. I know my business: lean on me! Well, then; you'll now be well-to-do, Rich even; you'll no longer brook Life in this God-forsaken nook; The whole land's open now to you.

Mayor, is not what you want to say, Pithily put, just: "Go away"?