Temple Lane.
My Dear Sir:
Your vexatious situation has awakened the liveliest emotion of sympathy in the breast of one who, while condemning the follies of his fellow men, rejoices in an opportunity of alleviating their miseries. The inclosed piece of gold is designed to meet your most pressing necessities, and I will myself follow your Mercury with as much expedition as I can compass.
I am, sir, your sincere well-wisher,
Samuel Johnson.
Goldsmith. [With a deep sigh of relief.] Ah! 'tis a great thing to have real friends. And they're not always the people that have the smoothest tongues, either. The Doctor's rough in his speech, yet there's nothing of the bear about him but his skin. [Remembering the children, with a start.] Here, Dick, old debts must always be paid. I've promised Margery a shilling, and you shall have sixpence. Run and change this guinea at the Green Dragon Tavern, hard by. [Dick makes for the door.] But, stay! If I must spend the day indoors, at least I'll have some good wine to keep me company. You may as well bring a quart of Madeira, lad, the best you can buy. [Dick goes out.] And, Margery, there's an old corkscrew on the floor in yonder corner. There should be a goblet, too, on the shelf. The other three were broken at our little meeting last night, and the china monster I was always so fond of, too, because Cousin Jane Contarine gave it to me. Ah, well! [Picking up some fragments from the floor and placing them on a shelf.] I'll keep the pieces to remind me of her. [Dick enters, sets a dusty bottle on the table, and takes the change out of his various pockets, piece by piece, with an air of great responsibility.]
Goldsmith. [Without counting the money.] Ah, the boy at last! Here's a sixpence for you, lad. [Dick pulls his forelock and promptly pockets the coin.] And here's your shilling, Margery.
Margery. [Taking it reluctantly.] I'll be sure to tell Mother how kind you are, sir, and then perhaps—
Goldsmith. Perhaps she'll not let the bailiff carry me off to prison? No use hoping for that, my dear, or for any other piece of good luck, for that matter. Poor Noll will never gallop in a coach and six, for all his hard work. But the sun shines sometimes even in Fleet Prison, and here's good wine, for once, to make him forget his troubles, so—
[Fills a goblet to the brim, lifts it to his lips, but sets it down quickly upon hearing a heavy step on the landing.]