evening you come to a small hamlet with smoke curling above the
house-tops and the houses themselves look cozy--then you have to
hold your hat in your hand and beg for a plate of warm soup. [A
short pause.]

DR. WASNER [deep bass voice]. Home sweet home!

BOLLAND. The story reminds me exactly of my late father.

FRAU BOLLAND. But, Adolph!

BOLLAND. Indeed, I say it does!

FRAU BOLLAND. How can you draw such a comparison? Herr Dobler has
become a celebrated poet.

BOLLAND. My father also achieved something in life. At his funeral
four hundred employees followed the coffin.

FRAU BOLLAND [impatiently]. We've heard that before ... Herr
Dobler, did you write poetry in those days?

DOBLER. No, Frau Bolland. Much later.

FRAU BOLLAND. I'll have to read your novel all over again, now
that I know it is all autobiographical.

FRAU BEERMANN [to Dr. Wasner]. You were going to sing, Herr
Professor?