Juhasz—You needn't throw me out, sir. I'm going of my own account.
Count—[Angrily.] Hold your tongue! You are too damned good for this world!
Juhasz—[Pacifyingly.] You oughtn't excite yourself, excellency. . . . There is really no need for it . . . and you might bring on a stroke
Count—It's all very well to be soft-hearted and charitable and forgiving. I'd like to be that way myself. But it's a luxury I can't afford.
Juhasz—I'm no use around here. . . . I know that, sir
Count—[Shouts.] Don't look at me like that! This is unheard of! I come in with the fixed intention of giving you the sack, and here I amUnheard of! [Angrier yet.] Now I'm the Juhasz! [Roars.] Do you expect me to send you away because you try to help everybody who is in trouble?
Juhasz—A man like me does more harm around the place than a hundred lazy workmen. . . . You mustn't consider me, sir. . . . I'll be all right. I'll go somewhere and wait until my money comes . . . from Berlin. Then I'll have my shop back. [He raises his eyes to the Count, then recollects that it is forbidden.] I beg pardon. [He turns his back.]
Count—Such credulity! Such optimism! [Goes up to him.] You are the most absurd old baby I everYou can look at me now. . . you soft-
