Lawyer. No, sir, I be no ghost; I’m a lawyer.
Schmidt. I vant no lawyer.
Lawyer. Give me my retainer.
Schmidt. Retainer? Vot do yer call that?
Lawyer. Money. Hand me fifty dollars.
Schmidt (with surprise). Vant fifty dollars? Vot for?
Lawyer. Did you not send for me to get a divorce from your wife?
Schmidt (lies down on his bed). Diworce from my vife? I got no wife. I want no retainer; I vant four dollars out of this bed.
Lawyer. I see they have been fooling me. That man hasn’t a cent of money. I’ll make tracks. [Exit.
Schmidt[1] (now sits up in bed and sings his little song).