FORMER POOR MAN. [Walking the floor, and holding his hands to his stomach.] Don't go to sleep again. I'm nearly crazy. What time does the Judge get here? Where does he live? Can't we send for him?
IMP. [Indifferently.] Oh, he is liable to come any minute—and then he may not come for an hour or two.
FORMER POOR MAN. [Pacing the floor, moaning and rubbing his stomach.] Oh, I can't stand it much longer. It's driving me wild, I tell you. I do wish the Judge would come.
IMP. [Getting up from his chair and keeping step with the Former Poor Man.] What's the matter? I thought all you wanted was to eat, drink, and be merry.
FORMER POOR MAN. [Frantically waving his arms.] Eat, drink, and be merry be——! Everything I eat gives me indigestion something awful; everything I drink gives it to me worse. How can I be merry when I am in this torment all the time? I tell you this pain is driving me mad. I want to get rid of it quick. Oh, why doesn't the Judge come?
IMP. What's the Judge got to do with it?
FORMER POOR MAN. [Pathetically.] I am going to beg him to take back this indigestion and give me back my poverty. It was not so bad, after all; not nearly so bad as this pain in my stomach.
[The street-door opens slowly, and a sorrowful woman enters. She is weeping softly. It is the Vain Woman. Gone is her posing and her proud manner. She walks humbly to the railing, and not seeing the Judge, she turns to Imp. The Former Poor Man looks at the Vain Woman, frowningly muttering: "What's she here for?" Then he sits down at the left and rocks back and forth in misery.
VAIN WOMAN. [Tearfully.] I must see the Judge right away, please.
IMP. [Languidly.] He isn't down yet. You're too earl——