The front stalls of a theatre. It is a first night - a lot of people in dinner jackets etc. About three rows back there is a spare seat. A general rustle of programmes, chocolates and theatrical murmurs. Suddenly a Sioux Indian enters, clad only in loin cloth, wearing war paint and with a single strip of hair in the middle of his head and feather. He carries a bow and a quiver of arrows. He settles into the empty seat. The man next to him shifts uneasily and looks straight ahead. The Indian looks his neighbour up and down a couple of times.