ll be frank with you. Just lately _I_ have been
wondering too.

DAUGHTER. Oh!

SINGER (rapidly). I have a house; you would like my house. I have a
park; you would like the park. Horses to ride and jewels to wear. I go
to London sometimes and see the King; you would like London.

DAUGHTER (tragically). I have never been to London.

SINGER (letting himself go suddenly). Sweetheart, all that I have--(In
an ordinary whisper) Be careful, Fiddler just went past the window.
(Keeping his arm round her, he breaks into the last line or two of his
song. She joins in, as if they were rehearsing.)

[Enter the FIDDLER.]

SINGER (to DAUGHTER). Yes, I think we have it pretty well now. 'Tis a
good song. (Turning round suddenly and seeing the FIDDLER). Ah, Fiddler,
are you there? What do you think of it?

FIDDLER. Isn't it time to start?

SINGER. To start? Ah yes, we start this afternoon. Well, we have had a
pleasant holiday and must get to work again.

DAUGHTER (eagerly). And I am coming with you.

FIDDLER. It is settled?

DAUGHTER. Oh yes, I think so.

FIDDLER. It is the best life. (TO DAUGHTER) Play something.

[As the DAUGHTER goes to the spinet, the SINGER goes out.]

(They play. When it is over, the DAUGHTER turns round and looks at the
FIDDLER, and sighs.)

DAUGHTER. That is all you want? Just you and your fiddle and the open
road?

FIDDLER. It is the best life.

[The TALKER appears at the window.]

TALKER. Aha! what did I hear? Did I hear our loquacious Fiddler
perorating upon Life? "Life," quoth she, with much argument and
circumstantial matter; "Life," she continued, making her points singly
and one by one, thus keeping the business in its true perspective; "Life
is--" (Lamely) Well, what is life?

FIDDLER. When do we start, Johannes?

[The DAUGHTER goes out.]

TALKER. Are you so eager to be gone?

FIDDLER. We have been here eight days.

TALKER. Eight days! And Troy was besieged for eleven years! Eight days!
Why, I could talk for eight days without taking breath, and I am by
nature a glum, silent man. Nay, nay, say not to me "Eight days." Eight
days will not make a man grow old or a woman lose her beauty. (The
MOTHER comes into the room.) Or a woman lose her beauty--Madame, I kiss
your hands. Were I of less girth I would flit through the window and
fall upon my knees at your feet. (The FIDDLER with a shrug goes out.)
As it is, I shall enter by the door in the usual way. I have your
permission?