Miss T. But my face is on fire, oh! oh! And I read in the paper that a young lady died here undergoing treatment.
Mad. P. That was all a lie! I’ll never let another newspaper reporter interview me as long as I live. Come this way for treatment. (Going L.) Madame Compton, go back to your exercises. (Exeunt Mad. P. and Miss T., L.)
Mrs. C. Well, I’m glad I haven’t freckles or warts or whiskers. I never could stand it to be skinned alive, I know. I’m so hungry I could eat a jar of that skin food.
Enter Susan L. Exit Mrs. C., D. F.
Susan. Silly little goose. She’s going to be a bridesmaid and is willing to be skinned in order to look pretty.
Enter Dickie Bird.
Dickie B. Are you the young lady I spoke to yesterday?
Susan. You are Miss Dickie Bird?
Dickie. I am. I have an appointment at this hour.
Susan. I operate on the hair. Take this seat. (Dickie seated facing L. so audience can have side view of hair and face; lets down Dickie’s hair, which must be dark and beautiful.) Oh, what beautiful hair! If I had that hair I wouldn’t dye it for the world.