(She laughs.)
Which shows us that tall men are not required
To-day. So nobody knows. Perhaps thin legs
Like Peter’s may be useful, after all,
In aeroplanes, or something. Every ounce
Makes a great difference there. Nobody knows.
It’s natural selection. See, Bettine?
Ah, now the gramophone’s ready. Make it play
A Christmas tune. That’s what the churches do
On Christmas Eve: for all the churches now,
And all the tall cathedrals with their choirs,
What do you think they are, Bettine? I’ll tell you.
I’ll whisper it. They’re great big gramophones!
(She laughs.)
Now for a Christmas tune!
Tarrasch (adjusting a record).
There’s irony
In your idea, my friend, that would delight
The ghost of Nietzsche! Certainly, it shall play
A Christmas tune. Here is the very thing.
(There is an uproar of drunken shouts in the distance. Brander locks the outer door.)
Bettine.
The inn is full of drunken men to-night,
Mother. D’ you hear them? Mother, was it an inn
Like that—the one that’s in my Christmas piece?