American. I smile.
Little Man. Oughtn't I to call him that?
German [abruptly]. Nein—Kellner.
American. Why, yes! Just "waiter." [The Englishwoman looks round her paper for a second. The Dutch Youth stops eating and laughs. The Little Man gazes from face to face and nurses his hat.]
Little Man. I didn't want to hurt his feelings.
German. Gott!
American. In my country we're vurry democratic—but that's quite a proposition.
Englishman [handling coffee-pot, to his wife]. More?
Englishwoman. No, thanks.
German [abruptly]. These fellows—if you treat them in this manner, at once they take liberties. You see, you will not get your beer. [As he speaks the Waiter returns, bringing the Little Man's beer, then retires.]