Roam. (menacingly). What’s that?
Bill. Nothin’, Mr. Artist. I’ll have the peach out here in a jiffy.
(Exit Bill, R. Roam. sits on bench, crosses legs and removes hat. Brushes hair with his hand.)
Roam. Well, this is funny business, an’ no mistake. What am I up against, anyhow? But it’s all right. I’ve got one five-spot, an’ there is another one comin’, if I do ther job right. You bet I’m ther one who kin do it, too. I ought to be an actor, instead of a tramp painter. (Starts.) Hello! here comes the girl, I suppose. That thick-headed boy has found her, all right. Now to paralyze her. (Enter Bill and Hat., R. Roam. rises and bows.) How are you, sweetness?
Hat. (in dismay). Who are you, sir?
Roam. Percy Heartache, the artist, at your service, my own love.
Bill (laughing uproariously). That’s who he is, Peach. Ain’t he a reg’lar dude?
Hat. (clasping her hands). Well, I never!
Bill. Neither did I, Peach. But here he is. You sent for him, he says, so it ain’t none of my business. (To Roam., sotto voce.) Don’t forgit that quarter when you git that bill changed.
Roam. (striking an attitude). Avaunt! Quit my sight, thou silly buffoon! Leave me alone in the presence of my adored one. [Exit Bill, L.