Scro. It's not my business. It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not interfere with other people's. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen.
Mr. M. It is useless, we may as well withdraw. [Exeunt. As they go out Bob is seen to hand them money.]
(Voice at door R. singing.)
God bless you, merry gentlemen.
May nothing you dismay—
Scro. (Seizes ruler and makes a dash at the door.) Begone! I'll have none of your carols here. (Makes sign to Bob, who extinguishes his candle and puts on his hat and enters.) You'll want all day to morrow, I suppose?
Bob. If quite convenient, sir.
Scro. It's not convenient, and its not fair. If I was to stop half-a-crown for it you'd think yourself ill-used, I'll be bound? (Bob smiles faintly.) And yet you don't think me ill-used when I pay a day's wages for no work.
Bob. It's only once a year, sir.
Scro. A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth of December. (Buttoning up his great coat to the chin.) But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning. (Exit C.)