Clara. I have a head-ache.—
Hunker. Have you been eating sugar?
Twitters (agonized). I fear so.
Hunker. Does your throat burn?
Clara (faintly). Yes, yes, I want to lie down (they lead her to sofa).
Hunker. My God! It’s the symptoms—see what you’ve done!
Twitters. I, you miserable man! Behold your work!
Hunker. No time for fooling, Twitters. I know the antidote. I’ll run to the nearest apothecary—it’s too bad, I vow! Here, give me sixty cents. (Exit.)
Twitters. There you are, my poor child! (Gets towel, which he wets with cologne and puts to her head.) Does that help you?
Clara. O papa. It doesn’t make me any better! Send for the doctor!