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he ranks,
- amid the press we'd all be drowned;
- and then where would the profit be?
MONSIEUR BALLON
- Accurst! So near to fortune's summit,
- and now stopped short beside its grave!
MR. COTTON [shakes his fist towards the yacht].
- That long black chest holds coffered up
- the nabob's golden nigger-sweat-!
VON EBERKOPF
- A royal notion! Quick! Away!
- It's all up with his empire now!
- Hurrah!
MONSIEUR BALLON
- What would you?
VON EBERKOPF
- Seize the power!
- The crew can easily be bought.
- On board then! I annex the yacht!
MR. COTTON
- You-what-?
VON EBERKOPF
- I grab the whole concern!
- [Goes down to the jolly-boat.]
MR. COTTON
- Why then self-interest commands me
- to grab my share.
- [Goes after him.]
TRUMPETERSTRALE
- What scoundrelism!
MO
