MOTHER (looking up). Well, Sir?

TALKER. Madame, I am a man of good family, although--although I quarrelled with my good family. I left them many years ago and took to the road. I have seen something of the world since then, but I think I must always have had at the back of my mind some dim picture of what a home was--some ancient memory, perhaps. That memory has been very strong within me these last days.

MOTHER. You have liked my home, Master Johannes?

TALKER. I have liked it well. (He takes out his pipe and plays a melancholy "Cuckoo.") Well, well--we start this afternoon.

MOTHER. You want my daughter?

TALKER (sadly). Not your daughter, Madame.

MOTHER. What is it you want? Are you so backward in asking? It is not like the Master Johannes who came to my house eight days ago.

TALKER (taking his courage in his hands). Madame, though I have wandered about the world, I have saved some pennies in my time. A few trifling coins--enough for middle-age. Since I have had the great honour of knowing you--(He breaks of as the voice of the SINGER to full song is heard approaching.) Oh, G.o.d bless that poor young fool! Madame, I entreat you--

MOTHER (rising and moving hastily away). Another time, dear Johannes--(she smiles very fondly at him as she goes out)--another time you must tell me--all.

(The TALKER stares after her, hardly believing. Then, with an air of solemn happiness, he takes out his pipe and dances carefully but cheerfully round the room, piping to himself. The SINGER comes in singing merrily, He joins the TALKER at the end of the room, turns round with hint and trips up and down the room with him, one singing and the other piping.)

TALKER. Friend, we are gay.

SINGER. Very, very gay, Master Johannes. (They turn round and go up and down the room as before.)

TALKER. Something is stirring our middle-aged blood. I feel years younger.

SINGER. I have only just been born.

TALKER (with a wave of the hand): Shall we take another turn?

SINGER. At your pleasure. (They go up and down as before.)

TALKER (looking at the other anxiously out of the corners of his eyes).

What do you think has happened to us?

SINGER (with a similar look). I--I wonder.

TALKER (nervously). I suppose the fact that we are going off this afternoon--the joy of returning to our old gay life is--is affecting us?

SINGER. I--I suppose so. (Without enthusiasm) Yes, that must be it.

TALKER. This cauliflower existence, this settled life which even the least enterprising cabbage would find monotonous, we have had more than enough of it, my friend.

SINGER. Yes. (He sighs deeply.) I sigh to think how we have wasted these eight days.

TALKER. Ah! (He sighs still more deeply.) However, Heaven be praised, we are for the road this afternoon.

SINGER (gloomily). Heaven be praised! It is a grand life.

TALKER (carelessly). Of course, if you came to me and said, "Johannes,"

you said, "I left my home in a fit of melancholy five months agone; the melancholy is cured, I will return home again"--why, I would say, "G.o.d bless you, Master Duke; go your way." Well, I can understand such a thing happening to a man of your age, not born to the wandering as I am.

SINGER. Bless you, Johannes, you are a true gentleman.

TALKER (airily). Say no more, say no more.

SINGER. But I cannot accept this sacrifice. I pledged myself to serve you for a year, and I'll keep my pledge.

TALKER (considerably upset by this). Wait a moment, Master Duke; I have myself thought of retiring these many months past. Indeed, it was only for your sake--

SINGER. No, no, I cannot allow it. It is only for my sake that you are saying this. We will take the road this afternoon. (Heroically) Indeed, I would infinitely prefer it. I am enamoured of the wandering life.

TALKER. It is a great life. It means everything to me.

(They stand side by side looking gloomily in front of them. Gradually they begin to glance towards each other; they catch each other's eyes--and understand each other thoroughly.)

TALKER (clapping the SINGER heartily on the back). I knew it, I knew it!

You and the wandering life!

SINGER (delightedly). You, too, Johannes! You've had enough of it!

(They suddenly turn round and go up and down the room together, piping and singing. A genteel cough is heard outside the window, and the MOTHER is seen for a moment. The TALKER turns round with his pipe to his lips.

They go up the room together again, and at the top the TALKER, with a wave of the hand, leaves his companion and goes out. He is seen pa.s.sing the window.)

[The DAUGHTER comes in.]

SINGER. Sweetheart!

DAUGHTER (going to him). Is it all right?

SINGER. Everything is all right, beloved.

DAUGHTER. You have told him?

SINGER (nodding). It couldn't have fallen out better. He, too, was tired of wandering and wanted to settle down.

DAUGHTER. I told mother. She seemed glad. You know, I think she seems younger about something.

[Enter FIDDLER.]

FIDDLER. Are we starting this afternoon?

DAUGHTER. Oh, Fiddler dear, do you mind very much? (She holds out her hand, and the SINGER takes it.) We aren't coming at all. We--we--

SINGER. We are getting married.

FIDDLER (nodding to herself). I thought so.

DAUGHTER. But you will come and stay with us sometimes. Oh, say you will!