[_Referring to QUAQUARO._] The gleam in his eye demands security. His lips demand cash. His fist portends immediate warning. He's a lucky creature who doesn't dream of him at the end of the month. And whoever dreams of him roars for help. A horrible, greasy fellow. But without him the people who rent this old shell would get no money and the army-treasurer could strike the income of these rentals from his books.--[_The door bell rings._]--That Is Miss Alice Ruetterbusch, the young soubrette with whom, unfortunately, I haven't been able to make a hard and fast contract yet on account of the way the aldermen of Strassburg shilly shally about their final decision. After my appointment, which I will secure by God's help, her engagement will be my first managerial act.--Walburga and Spitta, march up into the loft! Count the contents of the six boxes marked "Journalists" in order that we may complete our inventory at the proper time.--[_To KAeFERSTEIN and DR. KEGEL._] You may withdraw into the library in the meantime.... [_He steps forward in order to open the door._ _WALBURGA and SPITTA disappear swiftly and very willingly into the loft; KAeFERSTEIN and KEGEL retire into the library._ HASSENREUTER [_In the background._] If you please, step right in, my dear lady! I _beg_ your pardon, sir! I was expecting a lady ... I was expecting a young lady ... But, please, come in. _HASSENREUTER comes forward accompanied by PASTOR SPITTA. The latter is sixty years old. A village parson, somewhat countrified. One might equally well take him to be a surveyor or a landowner in a small way. He is of vigorous appearance--short-necked, well-nourished, with a squat, broad face like Luther's. He wears a slouch-hat, spectacles and carries a cane and a coat of waterproof cloth over his arm. His clumsy boots and the state of his other garments show that they have long been accustomed to wind and weather._ PASTOR SPITTA Do you know who I am, Mr. Hassenreuter? HASSENREUTER Not quite exactly, but I would hazard ... PASTOR SPITTA You may, you may! You needn't hesitate to call me Pastor Spitta from Schwoiz in Uckermark, whose son Erich--yes, that's it--has been employed in your family as private tutor or something like that. Erich Spitta: that's my son. And I'm obliged to say that with deep sorrow. HASSENREUTER First of all, I'm very glad, to have the privilege of your acquaintance. I hasten at once to beg you, however, dear Pastor, not to be too much worried, not to be too sorrowful concerning the little escapade in which your son is indulging. PASTOR SPITTA