LITTLE MAN. It likes my finger awfully. Really, it's rather a sweet baby.
AMERICAN. [Sniffing] Well, that would appear to be quite a question. About them spots, now? Are they rosy?
LITTLE MAN. No-o; they're dark, almost black.
GERMAN. Gott! Typhus! [He bounds up on to the arm of the ENGLISHWOMAN'S Seat.]
AMERICAN. Typhus! That's quite an indisposition!
[The DUTCH YOUTH rises suddenly, and bolts out into the corridor. He is followed by the GERMAN, puffing clouds of smoke. The ENGLISH and AMERICAN sit a moment longer without speaking. The ENGLISHWOMAN'S face is turned with a curious expression—half pity, half fear—towards the LITTLE MAN. Then the ENGLISHMAN gets up.]
ENGLISHMAN. Bit stuffy for you here, dear, isn't it?
[He puts his arm through hers, raises her, and almost pushes her through the doorway. She goes, still looking back.]
AMERICAN. [Gravely] There's nothing I admire more'n courage. Guess I'll go and smoke in the corridor.
[As he goes out the LITTLE MAN looks very wistfully after him. Screwing up his mouth and nose, he holds the BABY away from him and wavers; then rising, he puts it on the seat opposite and goes through the motions of letting down the window. Having done so he looks at the BABY, who has begun to wail. Suddenly he raises his hands and clasps them, like a child praying. Since, however, the BABY does not stop wailing, he hovers over it in indecision; then, picking it up, sits down again to dandle it, with his face turned toward the open window. Finding that it still wails, he begins to sing to it in a cracked little voice. It is charmed at once. While he is singing, the AMERICAN appears in the corridor. Letting down the passage window, he stands there in the doorway with the draught blowing his hair and the smoke of his cigar all about him. The LITTLE MAN stops singing and shifts the shawl higher to protect the BABY'S head from the draught.]