Doctor.--No. You must work to have me elected. I would lose doubly if
we were bitten.

Anton.--They must have burned you like the deuce, for you hiss
dreadfully.

Doctor.--An old story. A peasant did not sleep for six years, did not
eat, bent his neck, wounded his hands, and carried logs for a hut.
After six years a lord came along, kicked the hut and said: "My castle
shall stand here." We are sceptical enough to laugh at such things.

Anton.--He was a real lord!

Doctor.--A lord for generations. He carried his head so high that he
did not notice what cracked beneath his feet.

Anton.--I like the story. And what about the peasant?

Doctor.--According to the peasant tradition, he is thinking of a flint
and tinder.

Anton.--Glorious idea! Truly we despise tradition too much. There are
good things in it.

Doctor.--Enough. Let us talk of something else.

Anton (looking around).--An old and rich house. It would make a
splendid cabin.