…Mac sips his suds and sighs. "It theems like nothe ringth are the latetht thing amongtht the Itheni…" he observes to no one in particular. He watches as Everyman hunches his way around the room, looking for potential "cuthtomerth".

The dancing has begun, but Mac has no mind for tripping the light fantastic. For whatever reason, it seems his mind is filled with and excess of esses. He sings softly of silvery salmon and wonders how the hunchback would handle the saying the he, Sokni and Belo had toyed with earlier in the year. Slowly, a light comes into his eyes. He picks up his harp and strums a few sibilant chords. In a voice that can be heard, even over this din, he chants: