Schmidt. I don't vant his vork. I vant his money, or you takes him to jail.
Policeman. An' phat might his bill be?
Jack. Thirty-five cents.
Policeman (to Schmidt). Do yez think I've no more to do than arrestin' people for thirty-five cents?
Schmidt (excitedly). Can I feed all the tramps on dis Avenue by my place? I say you arrest him!
Policeman. Well, all right—if that's it. Come along here.
Belle. Mr. Schmidt.
Schmidt. Hey?
Belle. Let me pay what he owes you.
Schmidt. Hey?