] Calm, now. Treat 'em wiv the proper
contempt. Observe the bleedin' parasites but 'old yer 'orses.
YANK--[Angrily.] Git away from me! Yuh're yellow, dat's what.
Force, dat's me! De punch, dat's me every time, see! [The crowd
from church enter from the right, sauntering slowly and
affectedly, their heads held stiffly up, looking neither to right
nor left, talking in toneless, simpering voices. The women are
rouged, calcimined, dyed, overdressed to the nth degree. The men
are in Prince Alberts, high hats, spats, canes, etc. A procession
of gaudy marionettes, yet with something of the relentless horror
of Frankensteins in their detached, mechanical unawareness.]
VOICES--Dear Doctor Caiaphas! He is so sincere! What was the
sermon? I dozed off. About the radicals, my dear--and the false
doctrines that are being preached. We must organize a hundred per
cent American bazaar. And let everyone contribute one one-
hundredth percent of their income tax. What an original idea! We
can devote the proceeds to rehabilitatating the veil of the
temple. But that has been done so many times.
YANK--[Glaring from one to the other of them--with an insulting
snort of scorn.] Huh! Huh! [Without seeming to see him, they make
wide detours to avoid the spot where he stands in the middle of
the sidewalk.
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