MARTIN. By God, you're right.--It's the same in all the arts.
LAURA. [_Hysterically jovial._] 'Fess up, Ken. Who's been taking
you to American movies?
KEN. I still remember some I saw during Hoover's administration.
You don't mean they've changed them?
MARTIN. Only the revolution will change that tripe.
LAURA. Gently, Martin. I just told Tippy I was all ripe to turn
Communist. But let's enter by the Socialist door. I don't like
revolutzia. It's bloody.
[MARTIN _pours himself tea_. KEN _squints at posters,_ LAURA
_munches sandwich and giggles_.] Comrade Martin--bring on your
material dialectics.
[_Before_ MARTIN _has chance to answer_, TIPPY'S _voice sings
stridently, as he comes marching in._]
TIPPY. Belaya armeya chornee barone
Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone
[_He is now in. A towel is tied about his head with a
big blotch of red ink over his temple. He carries a
broom as a flagstaff to which a red bandanna handkerchief
is attached as a red flag._]
No ot tigee do bretanskeye morye
Armeya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.
[_On chorus_, MARTIN'S _better voice cuts in strong. He seizes_
LAURA _by the arm, forcing her to march with_ TIPPY. _And_ KEN,
_beating time with goose step, also sings._]
ALL. Tak poost Zheh krasnaya
Shumayet vlasno
Svoe shtik mozoleestoy rookoy
Es vse dolshnee mwee
Neudersheemo
Ette v poslednee sharkee boy.
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