LANE. Brace up; they ain't goin' to do anything to him.... [Comes into kitchen. Hesitatingly.] Say!... He didn't kick the cat—did he?
MRS. BAUER. Who said so?
LANE. Mrs. Nies—says she saw him from her window.
MRS. BAUER. [As though to herself.] I dunno. [Excitedly.] Of course he didn't kick that cat. [Again, as though to herself.] Fritz is so quick-tempered he mighta kicked it 'fore he knew what he was about. No one'd ever know how good Fritz is unless they lived with him. He never hurt no one and nothing except himself.
LANE. Oh, I'm on to the boss. I never mind his hollerin'.
MRS. BAUER. If you get a chance, bring me some butter for dinner—a pound.
LANE. All right. I'll run over with it in ten or fifteen minutes, soon as I get rid of these orders out here in the wagon.
MRS. BAUER. That'll do.
[She moves about apathetically, lays the cloth on the kitchen table and begins to set it. Lane goes to the dumb-waiter, whistles up the tube, puts the basket of groceries on the shelf of the dumb-waiter, pulls rope and sends waiter up. Mrs. Bauer continues to set the table. Boys from the street suddenly swoop into the basement and yell.
CHORUS OF BOY'S VOICES. Who killed the cat! Who killed the cat!