STRANGER. No. The whole thing's too distressing. Even without paying taxes he has the right to enjoy life's small pleasures.
LANDLORD. So you're the kind who'd absolve vagabonds from their duties?
STRANGER. This is too much! I'd have you know that I'm a famous man. (The LANDLORD and MOURNERS laugh.)
LANDLORD. Infamous, probably! Let me look at the police list, and see if the description tallies: thirty-eight, brown hair, moustache, blue eyes; no settled employment, means unknown; married, but has deserted his wife and children; well known for revolutionary views on social questions: gives impression he is not in full possession of his faculties.... It fits!
STRANGER (rising, pale and taken aback). What?
LANDLORD. Yes. It fits all right.
BEGGAR. Perhaps he's on the list. And not me!
LANDLORD. It looks like it. In any case, both of you had better clear out.
BEGGAR (to the STRANGER). Shall we?
STRANGER. We? This begins to look like a conspiracy.