Enter John Simpson, shabbily dressed.
Mr. S. John, we have been talking about you.
John. So I supposed. I thought I heard my name mentioned. You were considering that matter about the coat, were you? I hope you will think favorably of it.
Mrs. S. (bridling up.) No, sir; we were not thinking of buying you a coat, but we were speaking of your audacity in making such a request.
John. Ah! were you? Don’t you see I am old now, and dreadfully crippled with rheumatism? And, of course I am not able to work to buy myself clothes. If my brother will not take care of me now, who will?
Mrs. S. That’s just what we are going to talk about.
Mr. S. Wife, allow me to speak to John about the matter. (To John.) It may sound a little harsh and unpleasant, but we have come to the conclusion that we cannot keep you any longer. You know that we are not very well off in this world’s goods; we have not much house-room, and we have three children that demand our attention. We have kept you two weeks and we think we have done very well. We feel that you would be considerably in our road here, and we have concluded to send you to the poor-house.
John. The poor-house! I always did hate the poor-house. It must be so lonesome there; and then, I don’t think the boarding will be good. Must I go to the poor-house?
Mr. S. Yes, we have decided. We cannot keep you.
John. I thought, when I was away, that if I could only get home again, I would find my brother willing to take me under his roof, and allow me to end my days there. But I was mistaken. When must I go?