THE FAT MAN (almost soberly)—I've been on picnics.
THE SICK MAN—You're open and above board. Death's a sneak. You've got a nice face. Yes; you've got a mighty nice face. You'd stop to help a bum in the street or a kid that was crying.
THE FAT MAN—I have stopped for beggars and children.
THE SICK MAN—There, you see; I told you. You're kind and considerate. Death's the cruellest thing in the world.
THE FAT MAN (very much agitated)—Oh, please don't say that! It isn't true. I'm kind; that's my business. When things get too rotten I'm the only one that can help. They've got to have me. You should hear them sometimes before I come. I'm the one that takes them off battlefields and out of slums and all terribly tired people. I whisper a joke in their ears, and we go away, laughing. We always go away laughing. Everybody sees my joke, it's so good.
THE SICK MAN—What's the joke?
THE FAT MAN—I'll tell it to you later.
Enter the Nurse. She almost runs into the Fat Man, but goes right past without paying any attention. It almost seems as if she cannot see him. She goes to the bedside of the patient.
THE NURSE—So, you're awake. You feel any more comfortable?
The Sick Man continues to stare at the Fat Man, but that worthy animated pantomime indicates that he shall say nothing of his being there. While this is on, the Nurse takes the patient's temperature. She looks at it, seems surprised, and then shakes the thermometer.