_] My God, is that clock
right? [_He runs out at top speed._]
SIMPSON: They don't seem to know their place!
SHOMBERG: Them fellers think they own the earth.
RILEY: Next, they'll be thinkin' they own our factory!
CARTER [_solemnly_]: Well, sir, I wonder what this country is coming to!
[_Here there is a muffled explosion in the sample piano, which
rocks with the jar, at the same time emitting a few curls of
smoke. General exclamations of horror and fright as all of the
committee break for shelter._]
SHOMBERG [_his voice rising over the others_]: Send for the police!
SALVATORE [_shouting_]: Wait! We ain't divided up the money!
NORA: It's over; it hasn't done any harm!
FRANKEL [_on his hands and knees under the table_]: It was in that
piano. [NORA _goes across to the piano._] Look out, he's probably got
another one in there.
[MIFFLIN _helps_ NORA _to take off the front of the piano,
which is still mildly smoking; a wreckage of wires is seen._]
MIFFLIN [_smiling_]: It must have been an accident!
FRANKEL AND MRS. SIMPSON [_coming out from under the table_]: Accident!
MIFFLIN: Of course it's unfortunate, because it might be misconstrued.
RILEY: Yes, it might.
MIFFLIN [_confidently_]: Let me go talk to these new comrades!
RILEY: Comrades? Frankel's wops? Ha, ha!
SALVATORE: Aw, them ain't comrades; them's just Frankel's hired
workers.
MIFFLIN: They are comrades in the best sense of the word.
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