EUC. (Angrier and angrier.) Hand it over, I say! Stop quibbling! I'm not trifling now!
STR. Now what shall I hand over? Speak out! Why don't you give the thing a name? I swear I never touched or handled anything of yours.
EUC. Put out your hands.
STR. There you are! I've done so. See them?
EUC. (Scrutinizing his hands closely.) All right. Now put out the third too.
STR. (Aside, growing angry.) The foul fiends of madness have possessed this doddering idiot. (Majestically.) Confess you wrong me?
EUC. (Dancing in frenzy.) To the utmost, since I don't have you strung up! And that's what'll happen too, if you don't confess.
STR. (Shouting.) Confess what?
EUC. What did you steal from here? (Pointing to his house.)
STR. Strike me if I stole anything of yours, (Aside to audience) and if I don't wish I'd made off with it.