He might add that the monkey was eaten up by the fleas—that he needs a new monkey.
He laughs. All look at him in perplexity; the organ-grinder rises and takes up his organ silently.
SARAH.
What do you want to do, musician?
ORGAN-GRINDER.
I want to play.
SARAH.
What for? We don't need any music.
ORGAN-GRINDER.
I must thank you for your kindness.