any smoking in here.

Oswald (puts down his pipe). All right, I only wanted to try it,
because I smoked it once when I was a child.

Mrs. Alving. You?

Oswald. Yes; it was when I was quite a little chap. And I can
remember going upstairs to father's room one evening when he was
in very good spirits.

Mrs. Alving. Oh, you can't remember anything about those days.

Oswald. Yes, I remember plainly that he took me on his knee and
let me smoke his pipe. "Smoke, my boy," he said, "have a good
smoke, boy!" And I smoked as hard as I could, until I felt I was
turning quite pale and the perspiration was standing in great
drops on my forehead. Then he laughed--such a hearty laugh.

Manders. It was an extremely odd thing to do.

Mrs. Alving. Dear Mr. Manders, Oswald only dreamt it.

Oswald. No indeed, mother, it was no dream. Because--don't you
remember--you came into the room and carried me off to the
nursery, where I was sick, and I saw that you were crying. Did
father often play such tricks?

Manders. In his young days he was full of fun--