Teddy. Well, Mr. Smith, I want my parquisites. (goes to take carpet-bag.)
Schmidt. You can’t steal mine garpet-bags.
Teddy. Ye’s lying—under a mistake.
Schmidt. You tell me I’m lie, I vill blow your nose off. (squares himself, puts down carpet-bag, Teddy takes it up—Schmidt scuffles with him—Teddy trips him—he falls on stage with carpet-bag in his arms) Oh, mine bump! If mine vrow have seen you drip up mine heels von top tis floor, un bang mine bump, she would give you fury. I will have te constobber to take you mit te bost-office. (Teddy helps him up.)
Teddy. I hope you’re not hurt, sir. You’re mistaken; I’m the servant. (brushes him off) I beg your pardon, sir.
Schmidt (L.). You begs mine bardon. Vell, I don’t care. Der ish mine hand. I am John Schmidt, von ter firm of Schmidt, Vondunder, Kelt un Co., boot un shoes tread finters, un nunder tinks.
Teddy. I’m here, sir, waiting yer orders. What’ll ye have, Mr. John Smith?
Schmidt. I van some lager pier un spretsel—von leetle glass dat ish not as much as tri cent.
Teddy. A little glass, Mr. Smith! You have mouth enough to swallow a hogshead. [Exit Teddy, R.