[Screens announce scene as Chorus begins Entracte: "Pretty Saro".]

[Darkness; curtains closed. Spotlight appears on speaking Artemus at barker's booth on right of stage.]

ARTEMUS: Showmin hav allers bin aboozed sins the daze of Noah, the fust man in the Menajery Bizniss. Ef the daily papers of Noahs time air to be bleevd, Noahs kollekshun of livin wile beests beet enythin iver seen silns, tho I make bold to dowt ef his snaiks wus ahed of mine.

Wal, I wunt the editers & mimbers of the press corpse to cum to my Show free as the flours of May. But I dunt wunt em to ride a free hoss to deth. Thare is times whin payshens seezes to be virtoos. I have "in my mine's eye, Hurrayshio" (kotashun frum Hamlik) sum editers in a sartin town, whicht shall be nameliss, who air both sneekin & ornery. They cum in crowds to my Show, & then axed me 10 sents a line fer favribal notises. I objektid to payin, but they sed ef I dint down with the goldust theyd wipe my Show frum the fase of the arth. I put up with the eksorshuns ontil they bled me to a meer shadder, & I left town in disgust.

It wus in a sartin town in Virginny, the Muther of Presidints & sich, that I wus shaimfully aboozed by a editer in hoomin form.

[Spotlight in center stage before curtain shines on man in shirtsleeves with elastic sleeve garters, wearing a printer's apron. He is apparently setting up type for text from a paper he holds in his hand. As Artemus continues, this "editer" mimes in reaction to what Artemus is saying.]

He set my Show up steep & calld me the urbayn & gentmanly manajer. But whin, fur the pupuss of showin fare play all rown, I wint to anuther orfiss to git my handbills printid, whut duz this pusillanermus editer do but chanj his toon & abooze me like a skondrel. He sed my wax wurks wus a humbug [miming], & calld me a hory-heded itinerant vagybone. I thot at fust Ide polish him orf like the Boston Brawler [puts up doubled fist], but on reflextin that he cud polish me mucht wuss in his paper, I giv up.

[Editor smiles gloatingly and cockily swaggers a little.]

& I wud heer take okashun to advize peeopul whin, as they sumtimes will, they run into these mizbul noosepapers, not to pay no tenshun to em. [Editor glares.] Abuv all, dunt assalt a editer of this kine. It oney givs him notorosity, whicht is wot he wunts [editor grins, looking downward], & dunt do you no moore gud then it wood to jum into eny uther mud puddl. [Editor swaggers in place again.] Editers air jinrally fine men, but thare mus be blak sheep in ivry flock. [Editor glares, spotlight goes out, editor vanishes. Slight pause.]

But I regrit to say that the Show Bizniss, whicht Ive strove to ornymint, is bein yewsurpt by Poplar Lectooers [lecturer appears in spot light in center of stage, bows and simulates lecturing before an imaginary lectern with imaginary papers. Please see 19th century Vanity Fair drawing and RETURN], as they air calld, tho in my pinyun they air poplar humbugs. [Lecturer glares.] Hits individooals who git hard up who imbark in the lektoorin bizniss. [Lecturer very annoyed at this.] They cram theyselves with hi sowndin frases, frizzle up thare hare, git trustid fur a soot of blak close, & cum to lektoor at 50 dollers per pop. They aint over stokt with branes [lecturer glares]. But they hav enuf brass to maik suffishunt kittles to bile all the sope needed fur the ensooin 16 generashuns.

Peepul flok to see um in crowds. [Lecturer smiles.] The min go becaws its poplar, & the wimin folks to see whut uther wimin is wearin. Whin the lektoor is ovir, the lektoorer goze out on the town & regales hisself with oysters & sich [lecturer mimes dining]. & the audience peepul say, "Whut a charmin lecter that air wus [lecturer smiles], etsettery, etsettery. But 9 outer 10 of em dunt hav no moore idee of whut the lektooer sed then my kangaroo has of the seventh speer of hevin.

[Lecturer reacts indignantly.]

Why, thares moore infermashuns to be gut outer a well konduktid noosepaper -- prise 3 sents -- then thare is outer 10 poplar lekters at 25 to 50 dollers per pop, as the kase may be.

[Lekturer is visibly angry.]

Thees saim peepul, bare in mine, stik up thare nosis [as lecturer does now] at morul wax figgers & sagashus beests. They say thees things is low.

[Lecturer gives emphatic nod and storms into the darkness, as spotlight follows him, then dims out.]

Jents, it greevs my hart in my ole aij -- whim Ime in "the Sheer & Yeller Leef" (to cote my Irish fren, Mister Mackbeth) -- to see that the Show Bizniss is pritty mucht playd out.

[Slight pause.]

Howsumevir, I shall chans it agin in the Spring.

[DARKNESS]