Schmidt. Tat ish nice leetle gal. I have got un boy tat ish un gal—she ish ’pout your age, if she ish older ash you.
Polly. Why, sir, I am not a little girl—I am nineteen.
Schmidt. Never mind; you are nice, good gal, un wen I goes away I will make you un present.
Polly. Make me a present, sir?—what?
Schmidt. Yaw—of a kiss.
Polly. Thank you, sir; we ask double for that.
Schmidt. Well, I won’t take some. [Goes up.
Polly. He’s a brute, and has no taste for luxuries. [Flounces out.
Schmidt (at table). Tat was a burty leetle gal, un if she hadn’t charges so moch, I would make her von present mit a kiss before I go. Tis onion ish ash strong dat if you but him on top tis table for five minutes, he jumps all round so moch ash like ter spirit-knockers.