Messenger. That was the fairest sight I have seen. Otherdom was thriving for a space. But those, I notice, were of your poor.
Horace. Well, I’d like to know how long this Otherdom lesson is to go on. You’re simply robbing me of all I have. Eighty and one, and five shillings for the policeman—eighty-one pounds five shillings since I came out with you. It’s the most expensive evening I have ever had in my life. I have just one penny left, one solitary penny. I expect you will have that before long.
Messenger. Oh, frozen nature, will nothing melt you? Is there no Summer of Love to this Winter of Self? I must be brief with you or my mission fails. Your air, your gravitation, this pitiful, pitiless spectacle—(Horace himself)—all distress me. A woman’s cry, contempt of friends, a fellow creature’s mortal agony all fail to stir you. Then you shall learn pity as the poor learn it—by needing it.
Horace. What now? I should have thought you had caused enough unpleasantness for one evening.
(Newsboy heard off L. calling “Special!” Enter Newsboy L.)
Newsboy. Special! Extra special! Panic in the city! Great bank failure! Special, sir?
Horace. Yes. I’ll have one. (Buys a paper.)
(Door of house opens, and Dicey looks out and calls.)
Dicey. Hi, paper! (Buys a paper.)