Beermann enters through the middle door.  He goes to the desk, unlocks a drawer and takes out the diary of Hauteville.  He looks carefully about him, then picks out a volume of an encyclopedia from the book-case, opens it quickly and places the diary inside.  He seats himself and begins to read.  At this moment the center door is opened slowly, and Frau Beermann stands on the threshold.)

Frau Beermann.  Are you alone, Fritz?

Beermann [frightened, slams the book so that the diary is concealed in it].  Goodness, you did frighten me!

Frau Beermann.  I did not know how nervous you were until yesterday.

Beermann.  Oh, what, nervous?  I am over-worked and irritable.  Every single day, I have to prepare a new speech.

Frau Beermann.  Is it in that work that I disturbed you?  Pardon me.

Beermann.  Do you want anything?

Frau Beermann.  I just wanted to have a few serious words with you.

Beermann.  But not necessarily at this moment.  To-morrow or ...

Effie. [opening the glass door, calls in].  Oh, papa, did you forget?

Beermann [uneasily].  Forget what?

Effie. [entering].  Weren’t we to see the Indian dancer to-day?

Beermann.  Well, it can’t be done to-day.

Effie.  That’s a shame; I wanted so much to see her and to-night is her last appearance.

Beermann.  Then we will wait until the next one comes along.

Effie.  I don’t see why just we have to have this bad luck.

Beermann [with emphasis].  Because I have more important things to do than to watch your hop, skip and jump.

Effie. [jolly].  Oh, aren’t you cranky?

Beermann.  I am not at all disposed for such nonsense.

Effie. [going over to the desk, picks up the volume of the encyclopedia.] All this comes from your politics; now I will simply confiscate your ammunition.

Beermann [excited].  Give me that book.

Effie. [jumping away].  No, no, papa, you will only get sick.

Beermann [shouts].  I forbid these stupid jokes.  Put that book down.

Frau Beermann.  What is the matter?

Beermann.  I never could tolerate disobedient children, that’s all.

Effie. [placing the book on the desk].  Oh, pardon me, papa.

Beermann [grasps the volume tightly and places it in the book-case].  All fooling has its limits; don’t forget that.

Effie.  Now I suppose as a punishment, we can’t see the dancer.

Beermann.  Really I would rather go with you than—­sit here, but it is absolutely impossible.

Frau Beermann.  Go now, darling; I must talk to papa alone.