Sam. Let the charwoman alone to be the first—let the laundress alone to be second—and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here old Joe, here's a chance! If we all three haven't met here without meaning it.
Joe. You couldn't have met in a better place. Come into the parlour—you're none of you strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! how it shrieks! There an't such a rusty bit of metal here as its own hinges—and I'm sure there's no such old bones here as mine. Ha, ha! we're all suitable to our calling. We're well matched. Come into the parlour. (They come forward by screen.)
Mrs. M. (Throwing down bundle.) What odds, then, Mrs. Dibler? Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did.
Sam. No man more so, so don't stand staring as if you was afraid, woman—who's the wiser? We're not going to pick holes in each other's coats, I suppose?
Omnes. No, indeed! we should hope not!
Mrs. M. Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose?
Omnes. (Laughing.) No, indeed!
Sam. If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old screw, why wasn't he natural in his life time?
Mrs. M. If he had been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck with death, instead of lying, gasping out his last, alone there by himself—it's a judgment upon him! Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it.
Sam. Stop! I'll be served first, to spare your blushes, though we pretty well knew we were helping ourselves, and no sin neither! (Gives trinkets to Joe.)