The fresh romping young things! Think of their happiness! I should love to play for them.
MENDEL [Sarcastically]
I can see you are yourself again.
[He opens the street-door—turns back.]
What about your own lesson? Can't we go together?
DAVID
I must first write down what is singing in my soul—oh, uncle, it seems as if I knew suddenly what was wanting in my music!
MENDEL [Drily]
Well, don't forget what is wanting in the house! The rent isn't paid yet.
[Exit through street-door. As he goes out, he touches and kisses the Mezuzah on the door-post, with a subconsciously antagonistic revival of religious impulse. David opens his desk, takes out a pile of musical manuscript, sprawls over his chair and, humming to himself, scribbles feverishly with the quill. After a few moments Frau Quixano yawns, wakes, and stretches herself. Then she looks at the clock.]