MRS. B. } MARY. } (_in chorus_). You get out of here, mighty quick. SCHMIDT. Four dollars for a bed! Then I takes it along with me. (_he lays hold of and removes the bed, but MARY and MRS. B. force it from him, and whilst they are depositing it below, he tugs at the bedstead, removing it, says_) I'll take this along. (_MARY and SCHMIDT combat for the possession of it, to and fro from end to end of the stage. MARY at last succeeds in removing it below. SCHMIDT, however, remains, singing_) Four dollars for a sleep, In dis haunted hotel, Clubbed and waken'd up, All the long, long night through. MARY (_returns with a broomstick, vigorously belabors SCHMIDT, who is glad to beat a hasty retreat, saying_) I never vill vant to take four dollars' worth at dis hotel when I come dis way again. [_Exit._ The Negro here pops his head above the stage, announces that the next show will take place in the course of fifteen minutes, with a change of programme. ACT IV. [Illustration: SCARAMOUCH AND HIS FIDDLE.] _Enter SCARAMOUCH._ (_PUNCH, alarmed at the appearance of SCARAMOUCH, retreats round the corner of the stage._) SCARA. Mr. Punch, Mr. Punch! PUNCH (_approaching nearer_). Mr. Scaramouch, what have you there? SCARA. This, Mr. Punch, is my fiddle. PUNCH. Call that a fiddle? SCARA. Yes, it's a real beauty. PUNCH. If it's a fiddle, why don't you play a tune? SCARA. That is just what I'm going to do. Thum, thum. Tum, tum, tum. Bing, bing, bing, bing. PUNCH. Surely you don't call that a tune? Why, I could do better than that. SCARA. (_gives PUNCH the fiddle_). Then let me hear you. PUNCH. Thum. Tum. Thum. Tum. (_he strikes SCARAMOUCH blows on the back of the head, saying_) Bing, bing, bing, bing. SCARA. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Mr. Punch, I'll have no more of that. [_Exit SCARAMOUCH._ [Illustration] _Enter POLLY, very gayly dressed._ POLLY. Where is my father? my dear father! PUNCH (_aside_). What a beauty! POLLY. Who killed my poor father? Oh! Oh! (_cries_.) PUNCH. 'Twas I. POLLY. Oh! Cruel wretch, why did you kill my father? PUNCH. For your sake, my love. POLLY. Oh, you barbarian! PUNCH. Don't cry so, my dear. You will cry your pretty eyes out, and that would be a pity. POLLY. Oh, oh! How could you kill him? PUNCH. He would not let me have you, and so I killed him. If you take on so, I must cry too--Oh, oh! (_pretending to weep_) How sorry I am! POLLY. And are you really sorry? PUNCH. Yes, very sorry--look how I cry. POLLY (_aside_). What a handsome young man. It is a pity he should cry so. How the tears run down his beautiful long nose! (_aloud_) Did you kill my father out of love of me, and are you sorry? If you are sorry, I must forgive you. PUNCH. I could kill myself for love of you, much more your father. POLLY. Do you then really love me? PUNCH. I do! I do!