"My dear Imp:
"I have tried faithfully for years to aid distressed humanity, but they are an ungrateful lot of fools, and I wash my hands of them. When this letter reaches you I will be on the high seas, and I am never coming back. So write 'Finis' in the big old ledger of miseries, and shut up shop, for the Exchange is closed—forever.
Yours in disgust, THE JUDGE."
[They all stand dazed a moment. The Vain Woman, sensing that something terrible has happened, rushes from one to the other, saying: "What is it? What has happened?" Imp gives her the letter to read.
FORMER POOR MAN. [In a perfect frenzy.] My God! Indigestion all the rest of my days.
VAIN WOMAN. [After reading letter collapses in a chair, hysterically sobbing out.] Deaf, always deaf! Oh, what shall I do!
FORMER RICH CITIZEN. [Leaning heavily on his crutch and shaking his free hand, clenched in anger.] This is an outrage. I am rich and have influence, and I shall take steps to—to——
[Imp laughs mockingly. The man looks down at his milk-spattered clothes, his bandaged foot, and, letting his crutch fall to the floor, sinks dejectedly into a chair, burying his face in his hands.
[Imp dangles his keys and opens the street-door, as an invitation for them to go. The Former Poor Man is the first to start, moving dazedly and breathing hard. Imp offers him the bottle of indigestion tablets; the man grasps them, eagerly, tipping Imp, who chuckles as he pockets the money. The Former Poor Man takes a tablet as he exits. The Vain Woman, bowed with sorrow, moves slowly toward the door. Imp touches her arm and offers the ear-trumpet. She accepts it, with a wild sob, tipping Imp, who again chuckles as he pockets the money. The last we see of the Vain Woman, she is trying to hold the ear-trumpet to her ear, and exits, sobbing. The Former Rich Citizen still sits in his chair, his head in his hands. Imp picks up the milk-can, and, tapping the man not too gently on the shoulder, thrusts the milk-can at him and makes a significant gesture, indicative of—This Way Out. The man rises dejectedly, picks up his crutch, takes the milk-can, and hobbles painfully toward the door. Imp doubles himself up in wild Mephistophelian glee as the
CURTAIN FALLS