Mr. Y. And this you couldn’t excuse?

Mr. X. Oh, excuse—­no, I guess not, as the law wouldn’t.  On the other hand, I must admit that it would be hard for me to charge a collector with theft merely because he had appropriated some specimen not yet represented in his own collection.

Mr. Y. So that vanity or ambition might excuse what could not be excused by need?

Mr. X. And yet need ought to be the more telling excuse—­the only one, in fact?  But I feel as I have said.  And I can no more change this feeling than I can change my own determination not to steal under any circumstances whatever.

Mr. Y. And I suppose you count it a great merit that you cannot—­ hm!—­steal?

Mr. X. No, my disinclination to steal is just as irresistible as the inclination to do so is irresistible with some people.  So it cannot be called a merit.  I cannot do it, and the other one cannot refrain!—­But you understand, of course, that I am not without a desire to own this gold.  Why don’t I take it then?  Because I cannot!  It’s an inability—­and the lack of something cannot be called a merit.  There!

[Closes the box with a slam.  Stray clouds have cast their shadows on the landscape and darkened the room now and then.  Now it grows quite dark as when a thunderstorm is approaching.]

Mr. X. How close the air is!  I guess the storm is coming all right.

[Mr. Y. gets up and shuts the door and all the windows.]

Mr. X. Are you afraid of thunder?

Mr. Y. It’s just as well to be careful.

(They resume their seats at the table.)

Mr. X. You’re a curious chap!  Here you come dropping down like a bomb a fortnight ago, introducing yourself as a Swedish-American who is collecting flies for a small museum—–­

Mr. Y. Oh, never mind me now!

Mr. X. That’s what you always say when I grow tired of talking about myself and want to turn my attention to you.  Perhaps that was the reason why I took to you as I did—­because you let me talk about myself?  All at once we seemed like old friends.  There were no angles about you against which I could bump myself, no pins that pricked.  There was something soft about your whole person, and you overflowed with that tact which only well-educated people know how to show.  You never made a noise when you came home late at night or got up early in the morning.  You were patient in small things, and you gave in whenever a conflict seemed threatening.  In a word, you proved yourself the perfect companion!  But you were entirely too compliant not to set me wondering about you in the long run—­and you are too timid, too easily frightened.  It seems almost as if you were made up of two different personalities.  Why, as I sit here looking at your back in the mirror over there—­it is as if I were looking at somebody else.