Perhaps I could yet please your ears with a romanza which I composed myself—
Mrs. Granahan.
Away with you out of this. We want none of your music here.
Samuel James.
To tramp.
Why don't you give up playin' that fiddle of yours and turn your hand to honest work?
Tramp.
Proudly.
Desert my fiddle. The fiddle presented to me at Vienna by my orchestra! A genuine old Cremona 200 years old! Rather would I wander in Hades for ever. Never! Though cruel words stab and wound me.
Half sobbing.