The Vegetable; or, From President to Postman

by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Charlotte. He says he isn’t, but I don’t believe him for a minute.

Jones comes out, followed by an excitable Italian gentleman with long, musical hair.

Jones. This gentleman said he had an appointment with Miss Doris.

Jerry. Who are you?

The Gentleman. I am Stutz-Mozart’s Orang-Outang Band. I am ordered to come here with my band at three o’clock to play high-class jazz at young lady’s wedding reception.

Doris. I remember now. I did order him. It’s supposed to be the best jazz band in the country.

Jerry [to Stutz-Mozart]. Don’t you know there’s going to be a big political crisis here at three o’clock?

Doris. We can’t use you now, Mr. Stutz-Mozart. Anyways, I had to throw over my fiancé on account of political reasons.

Stutz-Mozart [indignantly]. But I have my orang-outang band outside.

Charlotte [her eyes staring]. Real orang-outangs?