Poe. Thank you. (Takes letter. Mrs. Schmidt waits expectantly) If you will be so good, Smidgkin—I mean if you will be so cruel as to bereave me of your presence while I break this very personal seal—very personal, I assure you—
Mrs. S. No, sir. I stay to see what ’s inside o’ that!
Poe. Since you desire it, madam. (Starts to open letter and hesitates) I—hope you are well, my good Smidgkin.
Mrs. S. Always am. Had n’t you better see what ’s in it?
Poe. To be sure.... I hope you have a good fire in your room this chilly weather, Smidgkin.
Mrs. S. Always do. I ’ll break it for you, Mr. Poe.
Poe. O, no, no! I could n’t think of troubling you. The rain beats very heavily. I hope your-er-roof will not be injured.
Mrs. S. Law me, I had every leaf tinkered up them sunny days last week. I believe in preparin’ for a rainy day, I do, Mr. Poe.
Poe. Indeed, yes,—if only we were all so wise, but, alas, my dear Smidgkin, some of us build so high that the angels have to come down and tinker our roofs ... and when they won’t, Smidgkin ... when they won’t (Lays letter on the table) ... I hope you have no errands to take you from your cheerful fireside in weather like this, Mrs. Smidgkin.
Mrs. S. My name is Schmidt, Mr. Poe.