VILLAIN. You call that a bottle. I call it a flask.
TRAGEDIAN. [Explosively.] A thimble!
"Old Man." A dropper!
"Old Woman." For seven of us! Oh!
COMEDIAN. [Letting the flash sparkle in the sun.] But it's whiskey, my children. [Opening the flask and smelling it.] U—u—u—m! That's whiskey for you. The saloonkeeper from whom I hooked it will become a teetotaler from sheer despair.
[Tragedian rising heavily and slowly proceeding toward the flask. Villain still skeptical and rising as if unwilling. The "Old Man" chuckling and rubbing his hands. The "Old Woman" getting up indifferently and moving apathetically toward the flask. The Heroine and Ingenue hold each other by the hand and take ballet steps in waltz time. All approach the Comedian with necks eagerly stretched out and smell the flask, which the Comedian holds firmly in both hands.
TRAGEDIAN. Ho—ho—ho—Fine!
"Old Man." He—he—Small quantity, but excellent quality!
VILLAIN. Seems to be good whiskey.
HEROINE. [Dancing and singing.] My comedian, my comedian. His head is in the right place. But why didn't you nab a larger bottle?