FREDERIK. He was putty in your hands.
MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. Yes, you can afford to defend his memory—you've got the money.
FREDERIK. I don't defend his memory. He was a gullible old fossil, and the whole town knew it.
MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. You did at any rate. I've heard you flatter him by the hour.
FREDERIK. Of course. He liked flattery and I gave him what he wanted. Why not? I gave him plenty. The rest of you were at the same thing; and I had the pleasure of watching him give you the money that belonged to me—to me—my money…. What business had he to be generous with my money? [The COLONEL strikes a match to light his cigar, and, as it flares up, the face of FREDERIK is seen—distorted with anger.] I'll tell you this: had he lived much longer, there would have been nothing left for me. It's a fortunate thing for me that—[He pauses, knowing that he has said too much. The room is now very dark. The rain has subsided. Everything is quiet outside. There is not a sound, save the ticking of the clock.
REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. [Solemnly—breaking the pause.] Young man, it might have been better had Mr. Grimm given his all to charity—for he has left his money to an ingrate.
FREDERIK. [Laughing derisively.] Ha! Ha!
MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. Sh! Someone's coming.
All is quiet. The clock ticks in the dark. The door opens.
FREDERIK. [With a change of voice.] Come in. [Nobody enters.] Where's a light? We've been sitting in the dark like owls. Come in. [A pause. He strikes a match and holds it above his head. The light shows the open door. A wind, blowing through the doorway, causes the match to flicker, and FREDERIK protects it with his hand.