POLICEMAN (writing with painful effort, his tongue stuck out). Love of
one's neighbor--the sacred feeling which--
MARY (wearily). Papa, children, look! An advertisement is coming.
(Enter musicians with trumpets and drums, a man at their head carrying
on a long pole a huge placard with the picture of an absolutely bald
head, and printed underneath: "I was bald.")
UNKNOWN MAN. Too late. They are drawing up a report here. You had better
skidoo!
THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE (stopping and speaking in a loud voice). I had
been bald from the day of my birth and for a long time thereafter. That
miserable growth, which in my tenth year covered my scalp was more like
wool than real hair. When I was married my skull was as bare as a pillow
and my young bride--
TOURIST. What a tragedy! Newly married and with such a head! Can you
realize how dreadful that is, children?
(All listen with interest, even the policeman stopping in his arduous
task and inclining his ear with his pen in his hand.)
THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE (solemnly). And the time came when my
matrimonial happiness literally hung by a hair. All the medicines
recommended by quacks to make my hair grow--
TOURIST. Your note-book, Jimmie.
MILITARY WOMAN. But when is he going to fall?
HOTEL KEEPER (amiably). The next time, lady, the next time. I won't tie
him so hard--you understand?
(Curtain.)