I am sure you won't be able to do it.

Not do it? We shall.

_Leader_

No, never.

Well then, suppose we do capture him, what will you give us?

_Leader_

I shall accept you as my preceptor.

Preceptor! You want to make us grey, and cold, and old, before our time.

_Leader_

Then, what do you want me to do?

If we capture him, then we shall take away your leadership.

_Leader_

That will be a great relief to me. You have made all my bones out of joint already. Very well, then it's all settled?

Yes, settled. We shall bring him to you by the next full moon of Spring.

But what are we going to do with him?

_Leader_

You shall let him join in your Spring Festival.

Oh no, that will be outrageous. Then the mango flowers will run to seed at once.

And all the cuckoos will become owls.

And the bees will go about reciting Sanskrit verses, making the air hum with m's and n's.

_Leader_

And your skull will be so top-heavy with prudence, that it will be difficult for you to keep on your feet.

How awful!

_Leader_

And you will have rheumatics in all your joints.

How awful!

_Leader_

And you will become your own elder brothers, pulling your own ears to set yourselves right.

How awful!

_Leader_

And----

No more "ands." We are ready to surrender.

We will abandon our game of capturing the Old Man.

We will put it off till the cold weather. In this Springtime, your company will be enough for us.

_Leader_

Ah, I see! You have already got the chill of the Old Man in your bones.

Why? What are the symptoms?

_Leader_

You have no enthusiasm. You back out at the very start. Why don't you make a trial?

Very well. Agreed. Come on.

Let us go after the Old Man. We will pluck him out, like a grey hair, wherever we find him.

_Leader_

But the Old Man is an adept in the business of plucking out. His best weapon is the hoe.

You needn't try to frighten us like that. When we are out for adventure, we must leave behind all fears, all quatrains, all Pundits, and all Scriptures.

(_They sing_.)

_We are out on our way And we fear not the Robber, the Old Man.

Our path is straight, it is broad, Our burden is light, for our pocket is bare, Who can rob us of our folly?

For us there is no rest, nor ease, nor praise, nor success, We dance in the measure of fortune's rise and fall, We play our game, or win or lose, And we fear not the Robber._

ACT II