THE KING--Give me the robe. I am not afraid. (_The Tailor stoops and seems to take something out of a bag. He extends the invisible object to the King, who clumsily pretends to hang it over his arm._) THE TAILOR--Oh, not that way, your majesty. It will wrinkle. (_Painstakingly he smooths out a little air and returns it to the astonished monarch._) THE KING (_to the Leading Republican, the Leading Democrat and the two Courtiers_)--You will meet me at the great gate of the palace in three minutes and accompany me on my promenade through the city. (_Exit the King. The Leading Republican draws close to the first Courtier._) LEADING REPUBLICAN--Wonderful fabric that, was it not? FIRST COURTIER--Much the finest I have ever seen. LEADING REPUBLICAN--Now, what shade should you say it was? It's hard to tell shades in this light, isn't it? FIRST COURTIER--I had no trouble, sir. The robe is a bright scarlet. LEADING REPUBLICAN--Scarlet, eh? (_He moves over close to the second Courtier._) LEADING REPUBLICAN--Wonderful fabric that we saw just now, wasn't it? SECOND COURTIER--It was like a lake under the moonlight. LEADING REPUBLICAN--Moonlight? SECOND COURTIER--Yes, it was easy to see that it was a miraculous fabric. Man could never have achieved that silver green. LEADING REPUBLICAN--Yes, it was a mighty fine color. (_Raising his voice._) I think we had better join his majesty now, gentlemen, and I believe we shall have an interesting promenade. Good-by until later, Mr. Tailor. ALL--Good-by, Mr. Tailor! (_The Tailor moves to a great window at the back of the stage and opens it. He leans out. He bows low to some one who is passing by underneath. The rattle of wagons may be heard distinctly, and the rumble of cars, with occasionally the honk of an automobile horn. Suddenly there is a noise much louder and shriller than any of these. It is the voice of a child, and it cries: "He hasn't got anything on!" Voice after voice takes up the shout. Seemingly thousands of people are shouting, "He hasn't got anything on!" Finally the shouting loses all coherence; it is just a great, ugly, angry noise. A shot breaks the glass of the window just above the Tailor's head. Quickly he protects himself from further attack in that direction by swinging two iron shutters together and fastening them. Then he locks the great door through which the King and the Courtiers have just passed._) THE TAILOR (_in sorrow and anger_)--More blind men. (_He moves to his bag and, dipping his hands in, raises them again to fondle an invisible something. As he is so engaged a little door at the right opens and a meanly dressed girl of about eighteen enters._) THE TAILOR--Keep your distance. I won't be taken alive. Not until I can find some one to care for my cloth. THE GIRL FROM THE KITCHEN--Oh, please, don't hurt me, mister. I just ran up here because there were soldiers down in the garden, and shooting and things. THE TAILOR--Who are you?