Correspondent. I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen! Anyway, he didn’t drop from the sky. However— (He quickly jots down in his note-book.) Unhappy young man—suffering from childhood with attacks of lunacy.—The bright light of the full moon—the wild rocks.—Sleepy janitor—didn’t notice—
First Tourist (to the second, in a whisper). But it’s new moon now.
Second Tourist. Go, what does a layman know about astronomy.
Tourist (ecstatically). Mary, pay attention to this! You have before you an ocular demonstration of the influence of the moon on living organisms. What a terrible tragedy to go out walking on a moonlit night and find suddenly that you have climbed to a place whence it is impossible to climb down or be taken down.
Correspondent (shouting). What feelings are you experiencing? I can’t hear. Louder! Ah, so? Well, well! What a situation!
Crowd (interested). Listen, listen! Let’s hear what his feelings are. How terrible!
Correspondent (writes in his note-book, tossing out detached remarks). Mortal terror numbs his limbs.—A cold shiver goes down his spinal column.—No hope.—Before his mental vision rises a picture of family bliss: Wife making sandwiches; his five children innocently lisping their love.—Grandma in the arm-chair with a tube to her ear, that is, grandpa in the arm-chair, with a tube to his ear and grandma.—Deeply moved by the sympathy of the public.—His last wish before his death that the words he uttered with his last breath should be published in our newspapers—
Military Woman (indignantly). My! He lies like a salesman.
Mary (wearily). Papa, children, look, he is starting to fall again.
Tourist (angrily). Don’t bother me. Such a tragedy is unfolding itself right before your very eyes—and you— What are you making such big eyes for again?