BENGTSSON. Like a mummy.... Would you care to look at her? [He opens the papered door] There she is now!
JOHANSSON. Mercy!
MUMMY. [Talking baby talk] Why does he open the door? Haven't I told him to keep it closed?
BENGTSSON. [In the same way] Ta-ta-ta-ta! Polly must be nice now. Then she'll get something good. Pretty polly!
MUMMY. [Imitating a parrot] Pretty polly! Are you there, Jacob? Currrrr!
BENGTSSON. She thinks herself a parrot, and maybe she's right [To the MUMMY] Whistle for us, Polly.
The MUMMY whistles.
JOHANSSON. Much I have seen, but never the like of it!
BENGTSSON. Well, you see, a house gets mouldy when it grows old, and when people are too much together, tormenting each other all the time, they lose their reason. The lady of this house.... Shut up, Polly!... That mummy has been living here forty years—with the same husband, the same furniture, the same relatives, the same friends.... [He closes the papered door] And the happenings this house has witnessed! Well, it's beyond me.... Look at that statue. That's the selfsame lady in her youth.
JOHANSSON. Good Lord! Can that be the Mummy?