STRANGER (to himself). He wants to fool me into saying the death-watch beetle. So I won't. You mean a burglar?
SECOND MOURNER. No. (The clock is again heard ticking.)
STRANGER. Are you trying to frighten me? Or does the dead man work miracles? In that case I'd better explain that my nerves are good, and that I don't believe in miracles. But I do find it strange that the mourners wear brown. Why not black? It's cheap and suitable.
THIRD MOURNER. To us, in our simplicity, it looks black; but if Your Honour wishes it, it shall look brown to you.
STRANGER. A queer company! They give me an uneasy feeling I'd like to ascribe to the wine I drank yesterday. If I were to ask if that were spruce, you'd probably say—well what?
FIRST MOURNER. Vine leaves.
STRANGER. I thought it would not be spruce! The café's opening, at last! (The Café opens, the STRANGER sits at a table and is served with wine. The MOURNERS sit at the other tables.) They must have been glad to be rid of him, if the mourners start drinking as soon as the funeral's over.
FIRST MOURNER. He was a good-for-nothing, who couldn't take life seriously.
STRANGER. And who probably drank?
SECOND MOURNER. Yes.