W. Y. Oh, but a myth is as good as a mile.
Dr. P. (calling). Mith Thmith, the boy ith all dressed now. You may come in, and bring in that box from the table.
As Miss Smith enters, the Wistful Youth takes one look, and then concentrates on the box.
W. Y. What's in that box?
Dr. P. It's a long tale: I have quite a few friends, but in this trade one makes a lot of enemies.
Miss Smith makes a precipitate exit. An adolescent grin is scarcely concealed by Dr. Palely's beard.
Dr. P. It wasnt meant for her ear, anyway.
W. Y. Thanks very much, Doctor, for signing me off. Look me up when you come to Joliet.
Dr. P. Thanks, but I doubt if I shall get South this winter.
The Wistful Youth exits to slow music. The Memorial Hall clock strikes nine-thirty, which it never does in real life, but this is, after all, only a fairy tale.
Dr. P. (advancing into the waiting room). This is Station OGOD signing off. You're next!
(Curtain)