Mr. F. I did not take the trouble to inquire.
Mr. R. What has he done with his money?
Mr. F. I haven't heard (yawning); left it to his company, perhaps. He hasn't left it to me. That's all I know. (All laugh.) It's likely to be a very cheap funeral, for upon my life I don't know of any body to go to it. Suppose we make up a party and volunteer?
Mr. R. I don't mind going if a lunch is provided. I must be fed if I make one. (All laugh.)
Mr. F. Well, I am the most disinterested, after all, for I never wear black gloves and I never eat lunch. But I'll offer to go, if any body else will. When I come to think of it, I am not at all sure that I wasn't his most particular friend; for we used to stop and speak whenever we met.
Mr. S. I would volunteer, but that I have another little matter to attend to that will prevent me. However, I have no objections to joining you in a drink to his memory.
Mr. R. I am with you. Let us adjourn to the punch bowl. [Exeunt.]
Scro. To whom can these allusions refer; Jacob Marley has been dead these seven years, and surely those whom I have considered my best friends would not speak of my death so unfeelingly. I suppose, however, that these conversations have some latent moral for my own improvement, and as I have now resolved upon a change of life, I shall treasure up all I see and hear. Lead on, Shadow, I follow! (Crosses to the opposite entrance and remains.)
SCENE III.—Interior of a junk or pawn-shop.
Enter Old Joe, ushering in Mrs. Mangle, Mrs. Dilber and Mr. Shroud, door in flat.