Old Joe. You couldn't have met in a better place; come in. You were made free here long ago, you know, and the other two ain't strangers. Stop till I shut the door of the shop. Ah! how it shrieks! There isn't such a rusty bit of metal in the place as its own hinges, I believe, 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, come! we are at home here. (Trims smoky lamp at table.)
Mrs. M. What odds, then! What odds, Mrs. Dilber? (Throws her bundle on the floor and sits on a stool, resting her elbows on her knees.) Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did.
Mrs. D. That's true, indeed! No man cared for himself more than he did.
Mrs. M. Why, then, 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?
Mr. Shroud. No, indeed! We should hope not.
Mrs. M. Very well, then: that's enough. Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose.
Mr. S. (Laughing.) No, indeed.
Mrs. M. If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, the wicked old Screw, why wasn't he natural in his life time? 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 there, alone by himself.
Mrs. D. It's the truest word ever was spoke. It's a judgment on him.
Mrs. M. I wish it was a little heavier judgment, and it should have been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, Old Joe, and let me know the value of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor afraid to let them see it. We knew pretty well that we were helping ourselves, before we met here, I believe. It's no sin. Open the bundle, Joe.