Schmidt. A nickel? You don't get much fer a nickel! (Calls.) Hey, you! Vaiter! Vy, you don't come for my customers?
Jack (rushes in Left). Here! (Sees Bill.) Oh, hello! It's the kid!
Bill. Whatcher doin' here?
Jack (comes up to him, whispers). I got a job!
Bill. Hully gee!
Jack. A fine job! No wages—but I'll get my grub every day.
Bill. Well, I want grub too! I got the stuff!
Jack (excitedly). A customer! (Turns to Schmidt.) See, Mr. Schmidt, a customer already! (Rushes with alacrity to table.) Have a seat, sir. Your hat, sir. (Hangs it up.) There, sir. Here's the menu, sir.
Bill. Say, Cully, whatcher givin' us?
Jack. Ssh! (Aloud.) What will you have, sir? Sweet bread croquettes, sir? We have delicious sweet-bread croquettes today. Or perhaps you'd like—let me see, sir. (Snatches menu.) Corned beef hash, sir, or possibly a charlotte russe.