HEILMANN. (To Puntschu.) Will you accept this share of Jungfrau-stock, sir? HEILMANN. PUNTSCHU. But that paper has no exchange, my friend. PUNTSCHU. HEILMANN. You rascal! You just don't want to give me my revenge! HEILMANN. MAGELONE. (To Bianetta.) Have you any idea what it's all about? MAGELONE. LUDMILLA. Puntschu has taken all his money from him, and now gives up the game. LUDMILLA. HEILMANN. Now he's got cold feet, the filthy Jew! HEILMANN. PUNTSCHU. How have I given up the game? How have I got cold feet? The gentleman has merely to lay plain cash! Is this my banking-office I'm in? He can proffer me his trash to-morrow morning! [Pg 55] PUNTSCHU. [Pg 55] HEILMANN. Trash you call that? The stock in my knowledge is at 210! HEILMANN. PUNTSCHU. Yesterday it was at 210, you're right. To-day, it's just nowhere. And to-morrow you'll find nothing cheaper or more tasteful to paper your stairs with. PUNTSCHU. ALVA. But how is that possible? Then we would be down and out!
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