Schmidt. Dat ish funny fellow. He drips up mine heels, un den he pegs mine bardon; un ven I ask him for tri cent glass lager bier, he say mine mouth is pig as hogshead mouth. Ven I vash leetle poy, as no pigger ash dot, ter gals say tat mine mouth ish burty, un mine frow say tat mine mouth ish burty, un by dinks I dinks so, too.
Enter Mrs. Barrisnobe, with bier, R.
Mrs. B. Your bier, sir.
Schmidt. Vot vilst du haben vor tat?
Mrs. B. Three cents, sir.
Schmidt. Yaw! Ter ish five cent—I will haben two cent change.
Mrs. B. Very well, sir; I will send the change.
Schmidt. Landlady, have you got von leetle bit onion tat ish notinks, un tat you will give to me mitout any charges?
Mrs. B. Well, that certainly is meanness. I’ll see sir, and send the change.
Schmidt. Landlady, I have gone to sleepen, till to-morrow morning. Vot you ask for un bed?