RICH CITIZEN. [Musingly.] The simple life—peace and quietness.
[Exit.
JUDGE. [In disgust.] It's no use, Imp. They all cling to their vices, but they are very keen to change some little cross or condition that vexes them—or think vexes them.
IMP. It's strange that people always want something different from what they have.
[Imp opens a drawer in his desk and takes out a bottle, evidently filled with tablets, which he holds up, shaking it and chuckling. He hunts in the drawer again, and this time brings forth a huge ear-trumpet, which he chucklingly places an his table beside the bottle of tablets.
JUDGE. Don't let any more in, Imp. I can't stand another one to-day. I am going to write a letter and then go home.
IMP. All right, sir.
JUDGE. I am feeling very tired; what I really need is a vacation. A sea-trip would put me right. By the way, Imp, where is that transatlantic folder that I told you to get?
[Imp picks up the folder from his desk and takes it to the Judge, who studies it attentively. Imp returns to his own desk, where he again looks in a drawer and brings forth a menu card, which he glances over, grinning mischievously.
[The former Poor Man re-enters from the changing-room. He is well dressed, and taking a well-filled wallet from his pocket, he looks at it gloatingly. However, from time to time, a shade of annoyance passes over his face, and he puts his hand to the pit of his stomach. Imp runs to meet him, and hands him the menu that he has been reading.