"Well?"
"I want you to be the Spirit of History and read the historic epilogue."
"Me? I'm no spirit. I'm a boss barber."
"Well, if you don't take the job, I suppose I can get one of the
Gulicks."
He considered a second.
"All right," he said. "I'll be the Spirit of History. But understand one
thing, right here and now: I will not wear tights."
She conceded him that point.
"Say," he asked, struck by a thought, "how do you know what spirits are
going to be in this? Who is going to write this thing, anyhow?"
"I am," said Mrs. Pottle.