Judge: Yes, sometime, if you happen to be here. (turns to Valentine) Valentine, while you’re in the city, I want you to get me a case or two of that superfine Scotch whiskey you brought down last time. I was just on the point of giving these gentlemen a sample of it—the Creole style, red-hot. It will be a memory for them to carry away from our town—(he is interrupted by a loud clang, as Margaret, having shoved the younger child into the vault in a spirit of play, slams the door, shoots the bolts, and turns the knob of the combination) What have you done?
Athol (screams): Oh, my God!
Margaret (in terror): Grandpa! I was just playing!
Judge (springs to handle and tugs at it): That door can’t be opened!
Athol: Oh, Papa!
Judge: The clock hasn’t been wound, nor the combination set!
Athol: Oh, God save us!
Margaret: Grandpa, I didn’t mean—
Judge: Hush! All be quiet for a moment! (shouts) Child! Listen to me! (faint scream of the child behind the door)
Athol: Oh, the poor darling! She will die of fright!