[Enter a new crowd of tourists, a very elegant gentleman, the chief correspondent of European newspapers at their head. He is followed by an ecstatic whisper of respect and admiration. Many leave the café to look at him, and even the waiter turns slightly around, glances at him quickly, smiles happily and continues on his way, spilling something from his tray.]
Voices. The correspondent! The correspondent! Look!
Lady. Oh, my, and my husband is gone again!
Tourist. Jimmie, Mary, Aleck, Katie, Charlie, look! This is the chief correspondent. Do you realize it? The very highest of all. Whatever he writes goes.
Kate. Mary, dear, again you are not looking.
Aleck. I wish you would order some sandwiches for us. I can't stand it any longer. A human being has to eat.
Tourist [ecstatically]. What a tragedy! Katie, dear, can you realize it? Consider how awful. The weather is so beautiful, and the chief correspondent. Take out your note-book, Jimmie.
James. I lost it, father.
Correspondent. Where is he?
Voices [obligingly]. There, there he is. There! A little higher. Still higher! A little lower! No, higher!