[Scene—A Dwelling in Rome.]

“My dear sir, it is useless to talk. I haven't anything against you, but I can't
let my daughter marry a hash of love, art, and starvation—I believe you have
nothing else to offer.”

“Sir, I am poor, I grant you. But is fame nothing? The Hon. Bellamy Foodle,
of Arkansas, says that my new statue of America is a clever piece of sculpture, and
he is satisfied that my name will one day be famous.”

“Bosh! What does that Arkansas ass know about it? Fame's nothing—the
market price of your marble scare-crow is the thing to look at. It took you six
months to chisel it, and you can't sell it for a hundred dollars. No, sir! Show
me fifty thousand dollars and you can have my daughter—otherwise she marries
young Simper. You have just six months to raise the money in. Good morning,
sir.”

“Alas! Woe is me!”