Mrs. Ritter. Why, I imagine some of the ladies have been here from the show—to fix up a little surprise for me.
Ritter. They should have lighted a few candles, and completed the effect.
Mrs. Ritter. But, these are just presents, Fred, from friends of ours.
Ritter. [Straightening up, and moving across below the table] They are tokens of sympathy, that’s what they are. [He crosses up and over above the table at the left.]
Mrs. Ritter. [Following him over] But, there’s nobody dead, dear!
Ritter. [Raising his left hand solemnly again] Oh, yes there is! Oh yes!
Mrs. Ritter. Really, dear! [He turns, just back of the arm-chair, and pins her with a look.]
Ritter. You’re dead. [She stands perfectly still, looking at him, wide-eyed.] You died tonight,—down there on that stage at Horticultural Hall. And so did everybody that was up there with you.
Mrs. Ritter. [With a troubled, uncomprehending expression] Why, how could I be dead, dear,—when I’m here,—talking to you? [He stands looking straight ahead, smoking. She bursts out crying, and turns to the partition-seat at the right of the center-door.] Oh, Fred! it’s terrible to see you this way!
Ritter. [Sweeping his hand across his brow and starting across below the table towards the right] The human brain can only stand so much.