IMP. [Throws down his pen, chuckles, and half standing on the rungs of his chair and balancing himself against his desk, surveys the ledger.] Your honor, I've all the miseries listed to date and a fine lot there is to choose from. Everything from bunions to old wives for exchange.
JUDGE. [Scowls and impatiently taps the letter he is reading.] Here is another one. A woman suspects her husband of a misalliance. Wants to catch him, but is so crippled with rheumatism she can't get about. Wants us to exchange her rheumatism for something that won't interfere with either her walking or her eyesight.
IMP. [Referring to the ledger and running his finger along the lines.] We have a defective heart or a lazy liver that we could give her.
JUDGE. [Irritably tossing the letter over to Imp.] She would not be satisfied. People never are. They always want to change their miseries, but never their vices. Each thinks his own cross heavier than others have to bear, but he is very willing to make light of his own weaknesses and shortcomings. He thinks they are not half so bad as his neighbor's. I have tried for years to aid distressed humanity, but I can't satisfy them. I am growing tired of it all, Imp. People need a lesson and they're going to get it, too. I am going to——
[Knock is heard at the street door. Judge sighs, turns to his desk and begins to write. Imp sweeps the litter of papers on his desk into a drawer, closes ledger, and goes to answer knock.
IMP. Here comes another misery.
[Imp opens the door to admit the Poor Man, who is very shabbily dressed. He hesitates, looks around the room as if he were in the wrong place, and then addresses Imp in a loud whisper.
POOR MAN. [Indicating the Judge with a motion of his head.] Is that him?
IMP. [Whispering loudly his reply.] Yes, that is his honor.
POOR MAN. [Still whispering and showing signs of nervousness.] Do I dare speak to him?