Officer. Nothing, aye. Ah, what do you call nothing? (he sets to and gives him a vigorous clubbing) You didn’t rob the bank—aye, aye.
Schmidt. Yaw, yaw; hold off, I say. I did rob the bank. Yaw, yaw.
Officer (getting a clearer view of his man, says). Oh, lor, you are not the man now, after all. The man that I am after has an Irish pug nose, and you are an old Dutchman. Get back into your bed. I made a mistake.
Schmidt. Yaw, another beefsteak. Vonder when they’ll stop coming and let von fellow get von little sleep.
Enter Ghost, who opens and closes his ghostly teeth..
Schmidt. Oh, vot is o’stealing o’er me? I tremble, I shake. Oh, that clubbing! (he sees the Ghost; he trembles) Oh, oh! Four dollars for a bed in a haunted house. [Exit Ghost.
Enter Lawyer.
Schmidt. Now that horrid ghost is gone, vill try and get some sleep.
Lawyer. Mr. Timothy Slobberchops.
Schmidt. Vot now—von you another ghost?