Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 8).djvu/288

 Ekdal. Did you? No, no, no; I don't remember it. But sure enough I've been a tidy bit of a sportsman in my day. I've shot bears too. I've shot nine of 'em, no less.

Gregers. [Looking sympathetically at him.] And now you never get any shooting?

Ekdal. Can't just say that, sir. Get a shot now and then perhaps. Of course not in the old way. For the woods you see—the woods, the woods! [Drinks.] Are the woods fine up there now?

Gregers. Not so fine as in your time. They have been thinned a good deal.

Ekdal. Thinned? [More softly, and as if afraid.] It's dangerous work that. Bad things come of it. The woods revenge themselves.

Hialmar. [Filling up his glass.] Come—a little more, father.

Gregers. How can a man like you—such a man for the open air—live in the midst of a stuffy town, boxed within four walls?

Ekdal. [Laughs quietly and glances at Hialmar.] Oh, it's not so bad here. Not at all so bad.