Child. The bow-wow dog is making faces at me.
Townsman. Look here, sir, your dog is certainly about to bite my child.
American [lights his pipe]. How much does your child cost?
Townsman. Cost! My child! Did you ever hear of such a thing? I want you to understand that my child p—
American. Waiter! Tell this woman not to shout so!—How much does your child cost?
Townsman. My child costs—nothing! Do you understand?
American. Well, your child costs nothing—my dog costs eight dollars. Think that over—is your son a thoroughbred? My dog is of the purest breed—think that over—if your son hurts my dog I'll hold you responsible. Think that over. [Fills his glass.]
Cocotte. What do you think that man to be, little mouse?
Young Man. A full blooded American.
Artist. I should say he's a German who has spent two weeks in New York.