(N.B. If the statue of the Messenger is not used in performing the play, the following will be the correct speech, but if the figure is now on the lamp-stand, reference may be made and addressed to him in the second person.)
Horace. Marsy, old boy, you have a lot to answer for! Fancy my dreaming I was hungry! Comes of eating a heavy dinner. (With a sudden thought.) By Jove! (Searches his pockets for his money. Finds it with a sigh of relief. Counts his notes carefully.) Ten, twenty, fifty, and one. All there. (Pulls out some silver from his trousers pocket.) Even the silver. Very careless, very careless of me. I can hardly be trusted out at night with so much. I might in a weak moment hand it over to some hospital amid the admiring cheers of the populace. I must watch myself.
(Loud clang of fire-engine bell as it passes from R. to L. startles him, and involuntarily he shouts out.)
Horace. Fire! (Then he checks himself.) Hope nobody heard me. My nerves are all on edge. I wish old Marsy would tell me whether that inventive vagabond got over his troubles or peacefully expired in the snow. Poor devil! I almost wish I could meet him again. We call such fellows riff-raff, rabble, but, if the truth were told, might not some of us be found to be the real loafers in the snug corners of Easy Street, of little good to anyone, cumbering up the way till that old patrolman, Death, steps up and bids us “Move on”?
(Enter Bella abruptly and alarmed, R.)
Bella. Oh, sir, did you call?
Horace. Call? (Innocently.) Call what?
Bella. Fire, sir. Fire.
Horace. Fire is all right. Burning nicely.
Bella. Yes, sir. Perhaps it was the fire engine going by.