Enter Croat with a necklace. Sharpshooter following him.
The above.

SHARPSHOOTER.
Croat, where stole you that necklace, say?
Get rid of it man—for thee 'tis unmeet:
Come, take these pistols in change, I pray.

CROAT.
Nay, nay, Master Shooter, you're trying to cheat.

SHARPSHOOTER.
Then I'll give you this fine blue cap as well,
A lottery prize which just I've won:
Look at the cut of it—quite the swell!

CROAT (twirling the Necklace in the Sun).
But this is of pearls and of garnets bright,
See, how it plays in the sunny light!

SHARPSHOOTER (taking the Necklace).
Well, I'll give you to boot, my own canteen—
I'm in love with this bauble's beautiful sheen.
[Looks at it.

TRUMPETER.
See, now!—how cleanly the Croat is done
Snacks! Master Shooter, and mum's the word.

CROAT (having put on the cap).
I think your cap is a smartish one.

SHARPSHOOTER (winking to the Trumpeter).
'Tis a regular swop, as these gents have heard.