HEILMANN. Now he's got cold feet, the filthy Jew!
PUNTSCHU. How have I given up the game? How have I got cold feet? The gentleman has merely to lay plain cash! Is this my banking-office I'm in? He can proffer me his trash to-morrow morning!
HEILMANN. Trash you call that? The stock in my knowledge is at 210!
PUNTSCHU. Yesterday it was at 210, you're right. To-day, it's just nowhere. And to-morrow you'll find nothing cheaper or more tasteful to paper your stairs with.
ALVA. But how is that possible? Then we would be down and out!
PUNTSCHU. Well, what am I to say, who have lost my whole fortune in it! To-morrow morning I shall have the pleasure of taking up the struggle for an assured existence for the thirty-sixth time!
MAGELONE. (Passing forward.) Am I dreaming or do I really hear the Jungfrau-stock has fallen?
PUNTSCHU. Fallen even lower than you! Tho you can use 'em for curl-paper.
MAGELONE. O God in Heaven! Ten years' work! (Falls in a faint.)
KADIDIA. Wake up, mama! Wake up!