Juhasz—[At the end of his endurance.] Liar!. . . You are dismissed. . . . [Reconsiders it, angrily.] You are not dismissed! Oh, how can I tell whether you are lying or not?
Mate—[Low, reproachfully.] Oh, Mr. Juhasz!
Juhasz—[Angrily.] Be still! [Less angrily.] Sit down. [Less angrily yet.] Have a cigarette.
Mate—[Drying his eyes.] I only smoke cigars.
Juhasz—[Crossly pushes the humidor toward him.] There! [Mate takes one.] Not those. . . . [Shouts.] Take a Havana. [Mate sticks several in his pocket.] Stop that crying. . . . And tell me instead, whether you are lying to me or not.
Mate—[Snivelling.] When all a man earns is eighty kronen a month. . . .
Juhasz—I know, I know.
Mate—And has to send forty to his father, and thirty to his sick boy. . . . [as Juhasz makes a gesture of surprise] I mean girl . . . what has he got left? Ten kronen! Can you live on ten kronen a month?
Juhasz—It's terrible, I know. . . .
Mate. . . . [Scratches his head in bewilderment.] I wish I knew what to do.
Mate—If I had anything left to pawn . . . but I haven't.
Juhasz—[Feels involuntarily for his watch
