madame mrs. slate, bonjour! welcome to l'ecole des enfants prehistorique haute superior!
enchante.
well, madame slate, as you can see, we remain ze creme de la creme in the croissant of life known as bedrock. now, your leetle gran' nephew will be wiz us for two weeks, no? here is ze application for him. an' mais oui, he weel participate in zee annual talent show, naturalment?
an' your friends perhaps would like zum school applications for zere enfants?
of course. any friend of madame slate is a friend of mine. as mrs. slate reacts, we --
sank you, ladies and gentlemen. an' sank you, monsieur slate for zis lovely setting. zoot alors, zis will ze mos' fantas'tic recital in bedrock 'istoree. now, i would like to sank out mos' generous benefactress, madame slate for her fine support o'vair zee years -- she gestures into the audience, where mrs. slate stands, waves a gloved hand like the queen mother.
-- an' now, what better introduction could we 'ave for mrs. slate's vairy own gran' nephew.  poindexter lava! she steps aside. curtain rises on little poindexter. he is carrying a leather-and-bone accordion. he begins to play:
sank you, sank you. our nex' performance is bam-bam, pebbles.  .  an' friend. she steps aside as a spotlight picks out --
madame slate, what ees wrong -- ?
oh, geez, we're all gonna croak -- i neva shoulda left far rockaway -- wilma gives her a big suspicious look -- blanching, the headmistress slides down the cable --