e
applause.)

DAUGHTER. I'm not sure that I like that last verse.

TALKER. Oh, you mustn't believe all he sings. A cursed melancholy fellow
by nature. But waggish--waggish withal.

SINGER (to DAUGHTER). We have to sing what the poets write for us,
Mademoiselle. Had I written a song myself, it had been about one woman
only.

TALKER. And there would have been a hundred and twenty-five verses to
it.

MOTHER. Your song was well sung, sir; I thank you for it. (To the
FIDDLER) Will you not play us something now?

FIDDLER. If you wish it.

TALKER. You would wish me to accompany her, of course.

MOTHER (with a smile). It is kind of you, sir, but I think perhaps my
daughter--

DAUGHTER (eagerly). Yes, of course, I will if I can. (She goes to the
spinet.)

FIDDLER (playing a few notes). Do you know this?

DAUGHTER. Yes, I think so. (She plays. At the end of it the TALKER finds
himself bowing to the applause.)

TALKER. And now, Madame, you have had a sample of all our poor talents,
save and except that paltry talent of mine which in other company
concludes such a performance. I pray you tell me what you think of the
entertainment.

MOTHER. I have enjoyed it immensely, good Master Johannes. And if you
did wish to exercise that talent of yours, of which so far we have only
heard--

TALKER. Nay, nay, Madame, I beg you.

MOTHER. Then, Sir, I offer you my grateful thanks for your
entertainment.

DAUGHTER. And I too.

TALKER. Ladies, you are too kind--er--(he hesitates)--er--

MOTHER. Yes?

TALKER, The fact is, Madame, that now we approach or, so to speak,
draw nigh or adjacent--in other words, Madame, we are perilously
approximate--

FIDDLER. Tell her straight out.

MOTHER. Tell her what?

FIDDLER. What we've come for.

SINGER. Master Johannes, Madam, is so accustomed when he goes round with
the hat to disguise under it flow of words the fact that money is as
necessary to an artist as applause, that he has lost the habit of saying
anything in less than ten sentences.

TALKER (mournfully). And yet I am a taciturn man.

MOWER. Well, will somebody tell me, for I confess I have been wondering
what is behind it all.

FIDDLER. Tell her, Johannes.

TALKER. If you will allow me, Madame. But tell me first, did you notice
anything lacking in our performance?

MOTHER (surprised). No; I don't think so.

TALKER (to DAUGHTER). Perhaps you, Mademoiselle?

DAUGHTER (shyly). It seemed to lack a woman's voice