Clown (entering, gazes at the headboard of the bed, says). Confound it! Why don’t they mark the numbers plain, so that a fellow can read them? However, I will wake the man up. (giving him a shake, says) Charley, Charley, wake up.
Schmidt (moving himself on bed restlessly). What is the matter now?
Clown. The matter? Why, we are ordered for an early morning rehearsal. Get up.
Schmidt. I want no hearse; me not dead yet. Go away.
Clown. Hearse! Funerals! No. Me and you got to get to the circus and rehearse the double somersault.
Schmidt (sitting bolt upright in bed, says). I want no summer suit; my clothes are right here.
Clown. Oh, dear, I made a mistake. I thought you was a clown, and you are an old Dutchman. Get back into your bed. A thousand pardons. [Exit.
Schmidt. Confound it! Four dollars for a bed! First that old nigger comes and gives me a clubbing, then that other white-faced monkey comes here and wants to know if I want a hearse, a summer suit, then says it’s a beefsteak.
Enter an Irishman.