[All listen with interest, even the policeman stopping in his arduous task and inclining his ear with his pen in his hand.]
The Man Carrying the Pole [solemnly]. And the time came when my matrimonial happiness literally hung by a hair. All the medicines recommended by quacks to make my hair grow—
Tourist. Your note-book, Jimmie.
Military Woman. But when is he going to fall?
Hotel Keeper [amiably]. The next time, lady, the next time. I won't tie him so hard—you understand?
[Curtain.]