FORMER RICH CITIZEN. Send for him, boy.
IMP. [Grins at Former Rich Citizen in an insolent manner.] Well, well, I wonder what the Judge is writing to me for. It's queer he would send me a letter.
[He looks the letter over carefully, both sides; holds it up to the light, smells it, shakes it. The two men and the woman grow more and more nervous.
FORMER POOR MAN. [Extremely irritated.] For goodness' sake, open it and read it.
FORMER RICH CITIZEN. Yes, yes, and don't be so long about it.
[Vain Woman simply stands pathetically and waits. Imp walks over to his desk, hunts for a knife, finally finds one; looks letter over again, then slowly slits the envelope and draws out letter, which he reads silently to himself. They are breathlessly waiting. Imp whistles softly to himself.
IMP. Well, what do you think of that!
FORMER POOR MAN. [Excitedly.] What is it—why don't you tell us?
FORMER RICH CITIZEN. [Pounding with his crutch on the floor.] Come, come, don't keep me waiting like this.
IMP. [Reads letter again, silently, chuckling.] All right. Here it is. [Reads.]