The Melting-Pot

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Good-bye, Johnny!... And don't forget to practise your scales.

[Shutting door, shivers.] Ugh! It'll snow again, I guess.

[He yawns, heaves a great sigh of relief, walks toward the

table, and perceives a music-roll.] The chump! He's forgotten his music!

[He picks it up and runs toward the window on the left,

muttering furiously] Brainless, earless, thumb-fingered Gentile!

[Throwing open the window] Here, Johnny! You can't practise your scales if you leave 'em here!

[He throws out the music-roll and shivers again at the cold as

he shuts the window.] Ugh! And I must go out to that miserable dancing class to scrape the rent together.

[He goes to the fire and warms his hands.] Ach Gott! What a life! What a life!

[He drops dejectedly into the armchair. Finding himself sitting

uncomfortably on the big book, he half rises and pushes it to the

side of the seat. After an instant an irate Irish voice is heard

from behind the kitchen door.]