(THE GREAT PIANIST _comes to the last measure of the_ coda--_a passage of almost Haydnesque clarity and spirit. As he strikes the broad chord of 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 end of the_ adagio, _and there is another burst of applause, which awakens_ THE DEAN OF THE CRITICS.) THE DEAN OF THE CRITICS Oh, piffle! Compared to Gottschalk, the man is an amateur. Let him go back to the conservatory for a couple of years. ONE OF THE MEN (_Looking at his program._) Next comes the _shirt-so_. I hope it has some tune in it. THE VIRGIN