(There is a honking outside—probably Divine’s chauffeur growing impatient for his master.)
Mr. Icky: (In misery) They do not love the soil! They have been faithless to the Great Potato Tradition! (He picks up a handful of soil passionately and rubs it on his bald head. Hair sprouts.) Oh, Wordsworth, Wordsworth, how true you spoke!
“No motion has she now, no force;
She does not hear or feel;
Roll’d round on earth’s diurnal course
In some one’s Oldsmobile.”
(They all groan and shouting “Life” and “Jazz” move slowly toward the wings.)
Charles: Back to the soil, yes! I’ve been trying to turn my back to the soil for ten years!
Another Child: The farmers may be the backbone of the country, but who wants to be a backbone?
Another Child: I care not who hoes the lettuce of my country if I can eat the salad!