MESSENGER. Give them to her. HORACE. I don’t mind giving her the tenner. MESSENGER. Give them all. She will need them. HORACE. Suppose I give her the fifty? MESSENGER. Give them all. HORACE. All? Mayn’t I keep the tenner? Just the tenner in case you get thirsty. MESSENGER. You stone! Give all, or lie mangled beside him! HORACE. Don’t! Don’t do it! I will! I will! (_To POLLY_) Here, young woman, is a trifle, a mere trifle to help you. (_Gives all the notes, savagely thrusting them into her hands, and turns away._) POLLY. (_Dazed at the sight of the notes_) Sir, you are good to us. Oh, thank you, sir! Jim, the gentleman has given us three pound notes—— Oh, no, it isn’t! It says ten pounds—— Good lummie, this says on it twenty pounds, and this fifty pounds, and he calls it a trifle! SECOND MAN. Why, that’s eighty quid! Why wasn’t I run over? POLLY. God bless you, sir! He’ll reward you! HORACE. Oh, don’t thank me. SECOND MAN. There’s some good in these stuck-up swells, after all. Three cheers for the gentleman! DR. CHAPMAN. Ah, here is the ambulance! (_Enter L. ambulance, doctor and policeman. They put wounded man on a stretcher and carry him off L. Cheering back at HORACE, the crowd follows._) DR. CHAPMAN. Let me shake you by the hand, sir. You’ve done a noble action. Thank God we have such men as you in England still! Good night, sir, good night! You’re a brick! (_Exit._) HORACE. Brick? It was a stone just now. It’s all the same. MESSENGER. That was the fairest sight I have seen. Otherdom was thriving for a space. But those, I notice, were of your poor. HORACE. Well, I’d like to know how long this Otherdom lesson is to go on. You’re simply robbing me of all I have. Eighty and one, and five shillings for the policeman—eighty-one pounds five shillings since I came out with you. It’s the most expensive evening I have ever had in my life. I have just one penny left, one solitary penny. I expect you will have that before long. MESSENGER. Oh, frozen nature, will nothing melt you? Is there no Summer of Love to this Winter of Self? I must be brief with you or my mission fails. Your air, your gravitation, this pitiful, pitiless spectacle—(_HORACE himself_)—all distress me. A woman’s cry, contempt of friends, a fellow creature’s mortal agony all fail to stir you. Then you shall learn pity as the poor learn it—by needing it. HORACE. What now? I should have thought you had caused enough unpleasantness for one evening. (_NEWSBOY heard off L. calling “Special!” Enter NEWSBOY L._) NEWSBOY. Special! Extra special! Panic in the city! Great bank failure! Special, sir? HORACE. Yes. I’ll have one. (_Buys a paper._) (_Door of house opens, and DICEY looks out and calls._) DICEY. Hi, paper! (_Buys a paper._) NEWSBOY. Extra, extra, sir? (_DICEY exits, and NEWSBOY, R., calling as he goes._) Extra! Panic in the city! Great bank failure! (_Exit._)