[Here the shadow of a huge hand brandishing a gigantic pair of shears appears upon the blind.]
Con. (hiding his face in his Mother's lap). Ah, Mother, see!... the scissors!... On the blind!
C's. M. Why, how you tremble! You've no cause to fear. The shadow of his grim insignia should have no terror—save for thumb-suckers.
Con. And what for them?
C's. M. (complacently). A doom devised by me—the confiscation of the culprit thumbs. Thus shall our statute cure while it corrects, for those who have no thumbs can err no more.
[The Shadow slowly passes on the blind, CONRAD appearing relieved at its departure. Loud knocking without. Both start to their feet.
C's M. Who knocks so loud at such an hour as this?
A Voice. Open, I charge ye. In the Council's name!
C's M. 'Tis the Official Red-legged Scissorman, who doubtless calls to thank me for the post.
Con. (with a gloomy determination). More like his business, Madam, is with—Me!