MAN (_looking at him quizzically_) Did you ever think, sir, why the night was made--with them stars you talk of? PIERROT Why was the night made? MAN Or why there’s settin’ o’ the sun and risin’ o’ the sun? PIERROT Why is there setting of the sun and rising of the sun? MAN Well--I don’t exactly know myself. But I seem to figger it out this way. Think of what it’d be, I says to myself, if there was all just one long day. Always day and day and day. Always the same glary light starin’ y’ in the eye--borin’ into your brain--so’s y’ couldn’t shut it out from y’; so’s y’ couldn’t get away from it; so’s y’ couldn’t watch the shadders come stealin’ along, the sun a-settin’ and the twinklin’ stars a-comin’ out--and so’s y’ couldn’t stretch yourself out and sleep--and so’s y’ couldn’t all of a sudden wake and hear the birds chirpin’ and a new day come! Ah, it’s that, sir--it’s the comin’ of the new day that makes life the grand thing it is--the comin’ of the new day _every_ day! PIERROT (_wonderingly_) The coming of the new day every day? MAN Just that. It’s a grand plan, sir! Keeps the world young. You try it. PIERROT Try it? What do you mean? I’m not the sun. MAN Ah, but you can be--and starlight and moonlight! How long was it--now tell me--since the thought came to you in the morning--I’ll bring her--I’ll bring her a vi’let? Oho--I know--(_sings_) Sweet was the honeymoon, Swift it passed away-- Now we’re steady married folk-- Day after day. It’s only for a short time--in the beginning--that every day’s a new day. After that it’s just always the same--always the same--and no risin’ o’ the sun in the mornin’--no chirp of birds--and no singin’ in the heart. PIERROT You mean-- MAN (_roguishly, bending to his task_) I mean there’s a good way to mend kettles and a bad way, sir; and when the kettles are singin’ and the fires are burnin’ under them--Oho--but there’s more hearts than kettles! (_Pierrot stands thinking._) PIERROT (_to himself_) I used to bring her things--a little red cloak I once brought her. Oh, she was happy! I remember that day. I made a song about it. MAN (_hammering away--sings_) Tins to mend, And hearts to tend; Hearts and tins Have outs and ins! PIERROT (_continuing--to himself_) It was one of my very best songs. And she was so happy! (_Suddenly_) Why--I’ve forgotten all about her lately! Even her birthday! She had to remind me of it! Poor Pierrette! MAN (_sings_) Outs and ins; Outs and ins; That’s where the trouble Of life begins! (_Pierrot looks up. His eyes suddenly grow bright with an idea._) PIERROT (_rising to his toes--running to the Tins-to-Mend Man_) I have it, old fellow--I have it! There’s a shop--just a step away. I know something she wants there. I’m going to get it for her! My purse it is lean; My purse it is lank; But who cares a flip For the state of my bank! (_He dances delighted._)