Land. (Starting.) What? (Seizes Leggatt by arm and jerks him to sitting posture.) Produce Bulger. The shot—Bulger. Have you murdered him?
Leggatt. (Throwing him off.) I’m ready to murder somebody. (Seizes cane.)
Land. (Retreating.) Where is Bulger?
Bulger. Here he is! (Strides down angrily. Land. and Schnell start back.) And let me add to what that literary man says. I thought he could use words better in such a case than a plain drummer, but he isn’t in it. Of all the noisy, windy, ill-kept, bad-smelling, disreputable (gets emphatic as he speaks), disorderly, rag-tag-and-bob-tail hotels in creation—
Schnell. Mine Gott!
Land. Hold on, sir. You’re going too far.
Bulger. I’ll go farther next trip. I’ll go to the next town. (Getting valise and things.)
Land. Your bill is ready.
Bulger. (Snorting.) Bill! bill!
Land. (Decidedly.) I said bill.