This baby has
typhus.
[At the word "typhus" the OFFICIAL stops.]
AMERICAN. [Making gestures] First-class typhus, black typhus,
schwarzen typhus. Now you have it. I'm kind o' sorry for you and
the gentleman in buttons. Do your duty!
OFFICIAL. Typhus? Der Bub--die baby hat typhus?
AMERICAN. I'm telling you.
OFFICIAL. Gott im Himmel!
AMERICAN. [Spotting the GERMAN in the little throng] here's a
gentleman will corroborate me.
OFFICIAL. [Much disturbed, and signing to the POLICEMAN to stand
clear] Typhus! 'Aber das ist grasslich'!
AMERICAN. I kind o' thought you'd feel like that.
OFFICIAL. 'Die Sanitatsmachine! Gleich'!
[A PORTER goes to get it. From either side the broken half-moon
of persons stand gazing at the LITTLE MAN, who sits unhappily
dandling the BABY in the centre.]
OFFICIAL. [Raising his hands] 'Was zu thun'?
AMERICAN. Guess you'd better isolate the baby.
[A silence, during which the LITTLE MAN is heard faintly
whistling and clucking to the BABY.]
OFFICIAL. [Referring once more to his telegram]
"'Rest gentleman mit black baby.
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