Chorus
Ha! ha!
The dead of the night's high-noon!
Rob. I recognize you now—you are the picture that hangs at the end of the gallery.
Sir Rod. In a bad light. I am.
Rob. Are you considered a good likeness?
Sir Rod. Pretty well. Flattering.
Rob. Because as a work of art you are poor.
Sir Rod. I am crude in colour, but I have only been painted ten years. In a couple of centuries I shall be an Old Master, and then you will be sorry you spoke lightly of me.
Rob. And may I ask why you have left your frames?
Sir Rod. It is our duty to see that our successors commit their daily crimes in a conscientious and workmanlike fashion. It is our duty to remind you that you are evading the conditions under which you are permitted to exist.
Rob. Really, I don't know what you'd have. I've only been a bad baronet a week, and I've committed a crime punctually every day.
Sir Rod. Let us inquire into this. Monday?
Rob. Monday was a Bank Holiday.
Sir Rod. True. Tuesday?
Rob. On Tuesday I made a false income tax return.
All. Ha! ha!
First Ghost That's nothing.
Second Ghost. Nothing at all.
Third Ghost. Everybody does that.
Fourth Ghost. It's expected of you.
Sir Rod. Wednesday?
Rob. [Melodramatically.] On Wednesday I forged a will.
Sir Rod. Whose will?
Rob. My own.
Sir Rod. My good sir, you can't forge your own will!
Rob. Can't I though! I like that! I did! Besides, if a man can't forge his own will, whose will can he forge?
First Ghost. There's something in that.
Second Ghost. Yes, it seems reasonable.
