Cashier. I forgot to ask you something a moment ago: you know there are a great many interpreters who know all the languages of Europe and don’t know their mother tongue. You speak English well, don’t you?
Percy. Perfectly, Madam.
Cashier. Good. I wanted to be quite sure, you know. You didn’t speak when I was talking to you.
Percy. Ye can rest quiet on that point, Ma’am. I speaks English admi-rably.
Cashier. We haven’t many French people at this season. (The telephone bell rings. The Cashier runs to the table, center, and takes off the receiver. A moment later she lays it on the table) It’s from Paris. (Percy, who is comfortably leaning against the Cashier’s desk, does not move a hair. The Cashier goes to him) Someone’s telephoning from Paris. It’s in French! Are you deaf? Go to the telephone!
Percy. (Advancing slowly to the table, and picking up the receiver) Hello? (Lays the receiver down, and faces the audience in despair) That’s it; they’re French. (Again listening, and again laying down the receiver) Don’t understand a word! (Speaking into the transmitter) Oui, oui, oui. (He is at his wits’ end)
Cashier. What do they say?
Percy. What do they say? Oh, nothing very important.
Cashier. People don’t telephone from Paris to say nothing very important!
Percy. (Again speaking into the telephone) Oui, oui.—Yes, they’re French, no doubt about it. They—they want some rooms, and so I said “Oui, oui.”