Hilmar.
You're a little blockhead. What is there to see? Nothing but trickery and make-believe. Now it would be something worth while to see the gaucho sweeping over the Pampas on his snorting mustang. But, hang it all, here in these little towns
Olaf.
[Pulling Martha's dress!] Aunt Martha, look, look—there they come!
Mrs. Holt.
Yes indeed, here we have them.
Mrs. Lynge.
Oh, what horrid people!
[Many travellers, and a whole crowd of townspeople, come up the street.
Mrs. Rummel.
Aren't they a regular set of mountebanks! Just look at that one in the grey dress, Mrs. Holt; the one with the knapsack on her back.
Mrs. Holt.
Yes, see, she has it slung on the handle of her parasol. Of course it's the manager's wife.
Mrs. Rummel.
Oh, and there's the manager himself, the one with the beard. Well, he does look a regular pirate. Don't look at him, Hilda!
Mrs. Holt.
Nor you either, Netta!
