twenty thousand dollars,[1] though neither of the parties has so much as a brass farthing. That is what sets me against you, Mr. Monsen. And there is another thing too that touches me still more nearly. Do you think it was with my good will that my son flung himself into all these wild speculations?
Monsen.
But how can I help that?
The Chamberlain.
It was your example that infected him, as it did the others. Why could you not stick to your last?
Monsen.
Remain a lumberman, like my father?
The Chamberlain.
Was it a disgrace to be in my employment? Your father made his bread honourably, and was respected in his own class.
Monsen.
Yes, until he'd almost worked his life out, and at last went over the waterfall with his raft. Do you know anything of life in that class, Chamberlain? Have you ever realised what the men have to endure who toil for you deep in the forests, and along the river-reaches, while you sit comfortably at home and fatten on the profits? Can you blame such a man for struggling to rise in the world? I had had a little more schooling than my father; perhaps I had rather more brains too
1 The dollar = four crowns = four-and-sixpence, was the unit of coinage at the time this play was written. It has since been replaced by the crown.
