(In another part of the same city where the Harlequin carried on his "activities," totally unrelated in every way to what concerns us here, save that it illustrates the Ticktockman's power and import, a man named Marshall Delahanty received his turn-off notice from the Ticktockman's office. The physicians, gathered in solemn conclave, roared with laughter, and accepted the Harlequin's apologies with exaggerated bowing and posturing, and a merry time was had by all, who thought the Harlequin was a regular foofaraw in fancy pants all, that is, but the authorities, who had been sent out by the office of the Ticktockman they hung there like so much dockside cargo, hauled up above the floor of the amphitheater in a most unseemly fashion. The Harlequin laughed and laughed, and apologized profusely. Blowing a large bullhorn, he frightened and unnerved them so, their own moisturized encirclement webs sucked closed, and they were hauled up, kicking and shrieking, high above the amphitheater's floor. He arrived twenty minutes early, while they were setting up the spiderwebs to trap and hold him. They assumed, naturally, that he would be late. The words had burned in the sky, and of course the authorities were there, lying in wait for him. I do hope you will all be able to join me. He had fired off the firecracker rockets that said: I will attend the 115th annual International Medical Association Invocation at 8:00 PM precisely. "Repent, Harlequin!" Said the Ticktockman
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