Tom. All is over—lead me away!
Bul. He was supposed to have much money in the house, though not a penny could be found. But besides this untold gold, there was standing in his name a sum amounting to £12,000!
Tom. I know nothing about the £12,000! But I am amenable to the law. Take me to my dungeon!
Bul. No dungeon yawns for you, oh, happy sir. Wealth—wealth waits you open-armed!
All. What!
Bul. You had a father once—that father yet another of his own, the aged man so strangely like yourself. That aged person had a son—that son another son—that son your father, and that other son yourself!
Tom. Then—I am the old man’s grandson!
Bul. That is the same idea in vulgar phrase. You are his grandson and his heir-at-law.
Car. (reviving). My poet-surgeon, and my old, old love! (Embracing him.)
Mrs. Eff. My son!