Doctor. Dilly, Dilly, don’t scold! I wandered into your room in search of you. I picked up your portfolio; and I want you to write to Harry.
Dilly. Write to Harry?
Doctor. Yes: write to Harry. Tell him to come home: we want him. Don’t you understand, child? Write, write, write!
Dilly. (Takes the portfolio. The Doctor sits in an arm-chair, L. C.) What can I say to him, doctor?
Doctor. Say—say? What can you say to Harry? I believe the child is mad. Say that we want him here; that his old father’s heart is breaking, breaking, breaking. You want him, don’t you, Dilly?
Dilly. Heaven knows I do!
Doctor. Then write: quick, quick! (Dilly sits behind table, R. C., and opens the portfolio.)
Fred. Ah, Dilly, I see you still preserve my present of five years ago.
Dilly. Preserve it? Yes; but I have never opened it. The memory of that day is not pleasant to recall. Now, doctor, you shall tell me what to write.
Doctor. Commence “Dear, dear Harry.”