anything myself. No. And let those letters go for to-night. I can't have you ruining your eyes.
Paula—As if you hadn't troubles enough of your own without worrying about my eyes.
Juhasz—Troubles?. . . Well. . . .
Paula—I can imagine how you must feel.
Juhasz—Yes, here I stand like a tree in the park that is only good for lovers to meet under. . . .
Paula—And then go away.
Juhasz—But first they cut their names in it with a sharp knife. [Adolf, carrying his long pole, comes through the archway.] What's the matter?
Adolf—It's eight o'clock, Mr. Juhasz.
Juhasz—[Still a bit absently.] Yes, you can really close up now, Adolf. [Adolf goes out, pulls the grating half way down.]
Count—[His voice is heard from the street.] Here, here, here! Are you trying to lock me out again? [He dodges under the grating and enters. He is wearing a motor coat and cap. Adolf, pole in hand, follows him in, grinning.] Tell me, my friend, do you do that on purpose? [Adolf only grins.] Whenever I try to get in you come along with that big stick and pull the grating down. You don't like me, what? [Adolf's grin is broader.] Here! [Gives him money.] Here is something for you. Try to like me better. [Adolf tries to kiss his hand. The Count waves him off.] Never mind
