Simon monologue (Act 1) — Comrades: A Drama in Three Acts

(_puts paper back_) The fact is, lightning-rods don’t agree with me. I started out in high hopes, one bright morning, espied an unprotected dwelling, rushed boldly up, rung the bell, notwithstanding a gigantic mastiff lay at my feet, evidently occupied in catching flies. Gent came to the door. In glowing speech I introduced my business. He rubbed his chin, said, “I don’t know,” and looked at the dog. I found he did know, when he further remarked, with emphasis, “Rover, here’s another rod man.” The dog gave a growl and rose. An electric shock was communicated to my being, and I calculated in one brief minute how many rods I should have to clear before reaching my rods outside. Then I left, closely attended by the dog. I didn’t own these clothes then; if I had my loss would have been greater, especially in that part of my wardrobe which the artist designated as _tout ensemble_. I gave up that business in disgust.