[The company falls into groups of spectators, the outlandish COCKS forming a wreath around their patron.]

THE PEACOCK [Preparing to spread his tail.] I am, by precious natural gift, in addition to my multifarious accomplishments something of a—­shall I say artist in firework?

THE GUINEA-HEN
[Effervescently.] Yes!

THE PEACOCK No.  Pyrotechnist.  For the choicest piece in urban gardens, where Catharine-wheels on festival nights spurt sidereal spray, and rockets shot into gold-riddled skies fall back in prismatic showers, is less sapphirine, smaragdine, cuprine—­

CHANTECLER
Zounds!

THE PEACOCK
—­than, I venture to say, ladies, am I—­

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Oh, I understood that last word!

THE PEACOCK —­when I unfurl the union of fan, jewel-case, and screen, upon which I offer to the self-same sunbeams that redden the reed all the joyous gems you now may contemplate!

CHANTECLER
What a silly bill!

[The PEACOCK has spread his tail.]

A COCK
[To the PEACOCK.] Master, which of us will you make the fashion?

THE PADUA COCK
[Quickly coming forward.] Me!  I look like a palm-tree!

A CHINA COCK
[Pushing the PADUA COCK aside.] I look like a pagoda!

A BIG FEATHER-FOOTED COCK [Pushing the CHINA COCK aside.] Me!  I have cauliflowers sprouting at my heels!

CHANTECLER
Each is in one the show and Mr. Barnum!

ALL [Parading and filing past the PEACOCK.] See my beak!  See my feet!  See my feathers!

CHANTECLER [Suddenly shouting at them.] Lo!  While you hold your costume contest, a Scarecrow gives you his blessing!

[Behind them, in fact, the wind has lifted the arms of the SCARECROW, which loosely wave above the pageant.]

ALL
[Starting back.] What?

CHANTECLER Behold this dummy talking to that lay-figure! [While the wind blows through the flapping rags.] What say the trousers, dancing their limp fandango?  They say, “We were once the fashion!” And, terror of the titlark, what says the old hat which a beggar would none of?  “I was the fashion!” And the coat?  “I was the fashion!” And the tattered sleeves, that no one has care to mend, try to clasp the Wind, whom they take for the Fashion, and drop back empty—­The Wind has passed, the Wind is far!

THE PEACOCK [To the animals slightly dismayed by this address.] You poor-spirited creatures, that thing cannot talk!

CHANTECLER
Man says the same of us.

THE PEACOCK [To the birds nearest to him.] He is vexed because of those Cocks whom I introduced. [To CHANTECLER, ironically.] What, my dear sir, do you say to these resplendent gentlemen?