ACT III. Daybreak
Scene, as in Acts I and II. The glow in the East shows St. John’s eve about to give way to St. John’s day. In the death chamber the lights are perceptibly lower. On the garden table the lamp is beginning to flicker.
As the curtain rises, John is standing at the lodge window, gazing at the body of his father. Presently he turns and advances to the centre. He seizes a grip sack off a knot of the tree where it has been hanging and throws it on the bench for a pillow. Andrew is hanging a padlock on the wicket and locking up.
Hans.—Listen to me, Andrew—come a little closer. What do you get for defending your honorable master last night when I had him by the throat?
Andrew.—Before the living God, my dear Mr. Hans, I did not save him! It was Miss Julia, and she used very little force. A bare touch of her fingers and your grip was off. Your hands are made of steel, Mr. Hans,—you might as safely pick up the pestle of a mortar.
Hans.—But you held me valiantly, Andrew. At least I know now what to expect of you if it comes to a show down between me and him.
Andrew.—No, no!
Hans.—Shame on you, Andrew! You join forces with the pharmacist against me,—me you used to carry on your back when I was a baby.
Andrew.—Oh, Mr. Hans, I would never do that! If the mayor had leaped at your throat, then I should have defended you.
Hans.—Your policy is to stand by the one who happens to be master and mayor, is that it? Just remember that I could, if I chose, be master here from this minute.
Andrew.—That you could not, Mr. Hans, not today, nor tomorrow, nor ever.
Hans.—I want to know why you think so.
Andrew.—There is no chance of your getting your rights because that fellow will not give way. He always gets what he goes after. Oh, dear!
Hans.—I see! That’s why you hold out with him against me. You have no faith in my getting what I set out after?
Andrew.—You don’t understand me. You see, I have been working here for forty years, and pretty much on my own terms,
