Beeler.
I suppose you do, after forty-eight hours. What in the name of nonsense is he, anyway? And this deaf and dumb Indian boy he drags around with him. What's his part in the show?
Rhoda.
I know very little about either of them. But I know Mr. Michaelis is not—what you say.
Beeler.
Well, he's a crank at the best of it. He's worked your aunt up now so's she can't sleep. You brought him here, and you've got to get rid of him.
Exit by outer door, with inarticulate grumblings, among which can be distinguished.
Hump! Ulrich Michaelis! There's a name for you.
Annie.
What's a fakir?