But--neither are we. And
your wit is somewhat coarse and pointless. But so are we. And your voice
is a trifle tired and cracked and loud. But so is our laughter. We are
even, quite even, madam. If you were better once, so were we. If you
remember sweeter laughter, why we remember more charming jests. Go on,
Dolores, our lady of jokes, you're worth the four bits.
* * * * *
Now the street seems a bit colder because it was warmer in the theater.
Where do we go from here? Up and down, up and down the old street. A very
pleasant afternoon. Spent in laughter and applause. Once there was booze
for a nickel and a dime. But it was found necessary to improve the morals
of the nation. No booze today.
That is quite a brave photograph of you outside the theater, madam. The
Dancing Venus. If we had tears we would shed them. The Dancing Venus,
indeed! We smile as you smiled yourself when you saw it for the first
time. But--good-by. Master Francois Villon sang it all long ago.
Yesterdays, yesterdays, here is a street of yesterdays.
And we, the tired ones, the brutal-faced, bitter-eyed ones, the beaten
ones--we walk up and down the cold street, peering at the cheerless
buildings.
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