NAGG:
Let me tell it again.
(Raconteur's voice.)
An Englishman, needing a pair of striped trousers
in a hurry for the New Year festivities, goes to his tailor
who takes his measurements.
(Tailor's voice.)
"That's the lot, come back in four days, I'll have it
ready." Good. Four days later.
(Tailor's voice.)
"So sorry, come back in a week, I've made a mess
of the seat." Good, that's all right, a neat seat can be very
ticklish. A week later.
(Tailor's voice.)
"Frightfully sorry, come back in ten days, I've made
a hash of the crotch." Good, can't be helped, a snug
crotch is always a teaser. Ten days later.
(Tailor's voice.)
"Dreadfully sorry, come back in a fortnight, I've
made a balls of the fly." Good, at a pinch, a smart fly is a
stiff proposition.
(Pause. Normal voice.)
I never told it worse.
(Pause. Gloomy.)
I tell this story worse and worse.
(Pause. Raconteur's voice.)
Well, to make it short, the bluebells are blowing
and he ballockses the buttonholes.
(Customer's voice.)
"God damn you to hell, Sir, no, it's indecent, there
are limits! In six days, do you hear me, six days, God
made the world. Yes Sir, no less Sir, the WORLD! And
you are not bloody well capable of making me a pair of
trousers in three months!"
(Tailor's voice, scandalized.)
"But my dear Sir, my dear Sir, look—
(disdainful gesture, disgustedly)
—at the world—
(Pause.)
and look—
(loving gesture, proudly)
—at my TROUSERS!"
(Pause. He looks at Nell who has remained
impassive, her eyes unseeing. He breaks into a high
forced laugh, cuts it short, pokes his head towards Nell,
launches his laugh again.)
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