SPITTA

An unmistakable feeling a.s.sures me that the child has only now lost its mother.

QUAQUARO

That's true. Its father ain't aroun' an' don' want to have nothin' to do with it. He got married yesterday to the widow of a man who owned a merry-go-roun'! Its mother was no better'n she should be! An' if Mrs.

Kielbacke was to take care of it, it'd die like ten outa every dozen what she boards. The way things has come aroun' now--it'll have to die too.

Ha.s.sENREUTER

Unless our Father above who sees all things has differently determined.

QUAQUARO

D'you mean Paul, the mason? Not now! No sir! I knows him! He's a ticklish customer where his honour is concerned.

MRS. Ha.s.sENREUTER

Just look how the child lies there! It's incomprehensible! Fine linen--even lace! Neat and sweet as a doll! It makes one's heart ache to think how suddenly it has become an utterly forlorn and forsaken orphan.

SPITTA

Where I judge in Israel ...

Ha.s.sENREUTER

You would erect a monument to Mrs. John! It may well be that many an element of the heroic, much that is hiddenly meritorious, lurks in these obscure fates and struggles. But not even Kohlhaas of Kohlhaasenbruck with his mad pa.s.sion for justice could fight his way through! Let us use practical Christianity! Perhaps we could permanently befriend the child.

QUAQUARO

You better keep your hands offa that!

Ha.s.sENREUTER

Why?

QUAQUARO

Unless you're crazy to get rid o' money an' are anxious for all the worries an' the troubles you'll have with the public charities an' the police an' the courts.

Ha.s.sENREUTER

For such things I have no time to spare, I confess.

SPITTA

Won't you admit that a genuinely tragic fatality has been active here?

Ha.s.sENREUTER

Tragedy is not confined to any cla.s.s of society. I always told you that!

_SELMA, breathless, opens the outer door._

SELMA

Mr. John! Mr. John! Oh, Mr. John!

MRS. Ha.s.sENREUTER

Mr. John isn't here. What do you want, Selma?

SELMA

Mr. John, you're to come out on the street!

Ha.s.sENREUTER

Quiet, quiet now! What is the matter?

SELMA

[_Breathlessly._] Your wife ... your wife ... The whole street's crowded ... 'buses an' tram-cars ... n.o.body can't get through ... her arms is stretched out ... your wife's lyin' on her face down there.

MRS. Ha.s.sENREUTER

Why, what has happened?

SELMA

Lord! Lord G.o.d in Heaven! Mrs. John has killed herself.

THE END