f the tonic there comes a roar of applause. He arises, moves a step or
two down the stage, and makes a series of low bows, his hands to his
heart._)

THE GREAT PIANIST

(_Bowing._) I wonder why the American women always wear raincoats to
piano recitals. Even when the sun is shining brightly, one sees hundreds
of them. What a disagreeable smell they give to the hall. (_More
applause and more bows._) An American audience always smells of rubber
and lilies-of-the-valley. How different in London! There an audience
always smells of soap. In Paris it reminds you of sachet bags--and
_lingerie_.

(_The applause ceases and he returns to the piano._)

And now comes that _verfluchte adagio_.

(_As he begins to play, a deathlike silence falls upon the hall._)

ONE OF THE CRITICS

What rotten pedaling!

ANOTHER CRITIC

A touch like a xylophone player, but he knows how to use his feet. That
suggests a good line for the notice--"he plays better with his feet than
with his hands," or something like that. I'll have to think it over and
polish it up.

ONE OF THE OTHER MEN

Now comes some more of that awful classical stuff.

THE VIRGIN

Suppose he can't speak English? But that wouldn't matter. Nothing
matters. Love is beyond and above----

SIX HUNDRED WOMEN

Oh, how beautiful!

THE MARRIED WOMAN

Perfect!

THE DEAN OF THE CRITICS

(_Sinking quickly into the slumber which always overtakes him during
the_ adagio.) C-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-c-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!

THE YOUNGEST CRITIC

There is that old fraud asleep again. And to-morrow he'll print half a
column of vapid reminiscence and call it criticism. It's a wonder his
paper stands for him. Because he once heard Liszt, he....

THE GREAT PIANIST

That plump girl over there on the left is not so bad. As for the rest, I
beg to be excused. The American women have no more shape than so many
matches. They are too tall and too thin. I like a nice rubbery
armful--like that Dresden girl. Or that harpist in Moscow--the girl with
the Pilsner hair. Let me see, what was her name? Oh, Fritzi, to be
sure--but her last name? Schmidt? Kraus? Meyer? I'll have to try to
think of it, and send her a postcard.

THE MARRIED WOMAN

What delicious flutelike tones!

ONE OF THE WOMEN

If Beethoven could only be here to hear it! He would cry for very joy!
Maybe he _does_ hear it. Who knows? I believe he does. I am _sure_ he
does.

(THE GREAT PIANIST _reaches the