ACT I
A country road. A tree.
Evening.
JAMES, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his toupee. He pulls at it with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again. As before. Enter VLADIMIR.
JAMES: [giving up again] Nothing to be done.
VLADIMIR: There's man all over for you, blaming on his toupee the faults of his head. [He takes off his hat again, peers inside it, feels about inside it, knocks on the crown, blows into it, puts it on again.] This is getting alarming. One of the thieves was saved. It's a reasonable percentage. [Pause.] James?
JAMES: What?
VLADIMIR: Suppose we repented.
JAMES: Repented what? [A flash of shabby mischief in his eyes. Runs at Vladimir, dances, giggles, waves his hands in the air.] JAMES JAMES JAMES JAMES!! [Exits.]
[Vladimir sighs, sits on the mound.]
VLADIMIR: That, for a start. [Pause.] Nothing to be done.