I tell you--I've got a heart, damn it! Just let a poor wretch
come and tell me he is hungry, and I'll take off my own shirt and
give it to him.

German. How about another drink?

Windrank. No, I don't think so.

(Several blows are struck on the iron door from the outside,
causing general excitement.)

Windrank. God-a-mercy!

German. Don't get scared. That's not the gate of heaven.

Windrank. I'll never drink another drop--I vow and swear!

German (to the Dane). What a blessed drink gin must be, seeing it
can move a rogue like that to sentimentality--nay, even to
thoughts of sobriety.

Dane. You're right. There is nothing like it.

German. It opens the heart wide and closes the head. Which means
that it makes good people of us, for those are called good, you
know, who have much heart and little head.

Dane. I'd go still farther. Gin makes us religious. For it kills
reason, and reason is the rock that keeps religion from entering
our hearts.