SIR EDWARD. I may give you one instance. He has some fantastical ideas about life on the planet Mars. Now, all scientific men of any standing are quite agreed on this point. There is no such thing as life on the planet Mars. HORACE. We know better than that, don’t we, Marsy? MESSENGER. And this is your science! HORACE. No. It’s not mine. It is his. (_Lights out in interior. Enter BELLA L. hastily. She rings bell at front door._) MESSENGER. Who comes now? Your servant, is it not? HORACE. Bella! What can she want? Has she missed me? (_Footman opens front door._) BELLA. Is Mr. Parker here, please? (_Footman shakes his head._) Or Miss Parker, then? Quick, please! The house is on fire. (_Footman admits her and the door is closed._) HORACE. The house on fire? My house on fire? MESSENGER. Be calm. The firemen will attend to it. You’ll see all about it in the papers to-morrow. HORACE. My house is on fire! Let me go! (_He starts to go, but is hypnotically held back._) MESSENGER. Stay where you are. You would only be in the way. It is insured, of course. HORACE. Curse you, no! All my papers will be destroyed. I’m done! I’m beaten! It’s your doing! Well, kill me at once! It would be a kindness! (_Sobs, thoroughly crushed._) MESSENGER. Poor child of the times, crying over your alphabet. HORACE. What will become of me? What will I do? MESSENGER. Where are your divisions of labor now? Yours will be to tramp the streets. Stand forth, poor shivering wretch! You are _a beggar in rags_! (_HORACE’S coat, scarf and hat are torn from him, and he appears as a ragged loafer._) HORACE. (_Looking down at himself in despair_) I am! I am! MESSENGER. And hungry. HORACE. Ravenous! (_HORACE leans back against the railings of the house, a most forlorn object. After a pause, enter slowly from R. the TRAMP. TRAMP spies HORACE and sidles up to him, and takes up a similar pose by his side. Nothing said for a little, but they examine each other._) TRAMP. Know anything? HORACE. Nothing. I’m hungry. Are you? (_TRAMP brings out a biscuit from his pocket._) TRAMP. Here’s a biscuit I’ve got left. It was given to me by a swell to-night. A real tip-topper. That sort of chap don’t know what hunger is. HORACE. (_Eating ravenously_) Doesn’t he? TRAMP. Don’t know a place to doss in, do you? HORACE. No. TRAMP. Tough, ain’t it? HORACE. Very. TRAMP. Know where you can get a job in the morning? HORACE. Wish I did. TRAMP. There’s a lot of snow to shovel. HORACE. Lots. TRAMP. But we ain’t got no shovels. HORACE. Worse luck! TRAMP. What are you? HORACE. Nothing. Just a tramp. TRAMP. Same as me. Seen better days? HORACE. Yes. TRAMP. Same as me again. Well, I like the looks of you. You seem a good sort, anyhow. HORACE. Do I? You are the first to say so to-night. I’ve heard nothing but the contrary opinion of late. TRAMP. Got a wife that nags, maybe? HORACE. Not exactly a wife. I’ve got no wife.