a white mass of sticky confection which looks as though it might be a combination of honey and something – milk, perhaps) – I've gone and left that card case again, but I'm Death, all right.
THE SICK MAN – What nonsense! If you really were I'd be frightened. I'd have cold shivers up and down my spine. My hair would stand on end like the fretful porcupine. I'm not afraid of you. Why, when Sadie Bluchblauer starts to argue about the war she scares me more than you do.
THE FAT MAN (very much relieved and visibly brighter) – That's fine. I'm glad you're not scared. Now we can sit down and talk things over like friends.
THE SICK MAN – I don't mind talking, but remember I know you're not Death. You're just some trick my hot head's playing on me. Don't get the idea you're putting anything over.
THE FAT MAN – But what makes you so sure I'm not Death?
THE SICK MAN – Go on! Where's your black cloak? Where's your sickle? Where's your skeleton? Why don't you rattle when you walk?
THE FAT MAN (horrified and distressed) – Why should I rattle? What do I want with a black overcoat or a skeleton? I'm not fooling you. I'm Death, all right.
THE SICK MAN – Don't tell me that. I've seen Death a thousand times in the war cartoons. And I've seen him on the stage – Maeterlinck, you know, with green lights and moaning, and that Russian fellow, Andreyeff, with no light at all, and hollering. And I've seen other plays with Death – lots of them. I'm one of the scene shifters with the Washington Square Players. This isn't regular, at all. There's more light in here right now than any day since I've been sick.
THE FAT MAN – I always come in the light. Be a good fellow and believe me. You'll see I'm right later on. I wouldn't fool anybody. It's mean.
THE SICK MAN (laughing out loud) – Mean! What's meaner than Death? You're not Death. You're as soft and smooth-talking as a press agent. Why, you could go on a picnic in that make-up.
THE FAT MAN (almost soberly) – I've been on picnics.
THE SICK MAN – You're open and above board. Death's a sneak. You've got a nice face. Yes; you've got a mighty nice face. You'd stop to help a bum in the street or a kid that was crying.
THE FAT MAN – I have stopped for beggars and children.
THE SICK MAN – There, you see; I told you. You're kind and considerate. Death's the cruellest thing in the world.
THE FAT MAN (very much agitated) – Oh, please don't say that! It isn't true. I'm kind; that's my business. When things get too rotten I'm the only one that can help. They've got to have me. You should hear them sometimes before I come. I'm the one that takes them off battlefields and out of slums and all terribly tired people. I whisper a joke in their ears, and we go away, laughing. We always go away laughing. Everybody sees my joke, it's so good.
THE SICK MAN – What's the joke?
THE FAT MAN – I'll tell it to you later.
Enter the Nurse. She almost runs into the Fat Man, but goes right past without paying any attention. It almost seems as if she cannot see him. She goes to the bedside of the patient.
THE NURSE – So, you're awake. You feel any more comfortable?
The Sick Man continues to stare at the Fat Man, but that worthy animated pantomime indicates that he shall say nothing of his being there. While this is on, the Nurse takes the patient's temperature. She looks at it, seems surprised, and then shakes the thermometer.
THE SICK MAN (eagerly) – I suppose my temperature's way up again, hey? I've been seeing things this afternoon and talking to myself.
THE NURSE – No; your temperature is almost normal.
THE SICK MAN (incredulously) – Almost normal?
THE NURSE – Yes; under a hundred.
She goes out quickly and quietly. The Sick Man turns to his fat friend.
THE SICK MAN – What do you make of that? Less than a hundred. That oughtn't to make me see things; do you think so?
THE FAT MAN – Well, I'd just as soon not be called a thing. Up there I'm called good old Death. Some of the fellows call me Bill. Maybe that's because I'm always due.
THE SICK MAN – Rats! Is that the joke you promised me?
THE FAT MAN (pained beyond measure) – Oh, that was just a little unofficial joke. The joke's not like that. I didn't make up the real one. It wasn't made up at all. It's been growing for years and years. A whole lot of people have had a hand in fixing it up – Aristophanes and Chaucer and Shakespeare, and Mark Twain and Rabelais —
THE SICK MAN – Did that fellow Rabelais get in – up there?
THE FAT MAN – Well, not exactly, but he lives in one of the most accessible parts of the suburb, and we have him up quite often. He's popular on account of his after-dinner stories. What I might call his physical humor is delightfully reminiscent and archaic.
THE SICK MAN – There won't be any bodies, then?
THE FAT MAN – Oh, yes, brand new ones. No tonsils or appendixes, of course. That is, not as a rule. We have to bring in a few tonsils every year to amuse our doctors.
THE SICK MAN – Any shows?
THE FAT MAN – I should say so. Lots of 'em, and all hits. In fact, we've never had a failure (provocatively). Now, what do you think is the best show you ever saw?
THE SICK MAN (reminiscently) – Well, just about the best show I ever saw was a piece called "Fair and Warmer," but, of course, you wouldn't have that.
THE FAT MAN – Of course, we have. The fellow before last wanted that.
THE SICK MAN (truculently) – I'll bet you haven't got the original company.
THE FAT MAN (apologetically) – No, but we expect to get most of them by and by. Nell Gwyn does pretty well in the lead just now.
THE SICK MAN (shocked) – Did she get in?
THE FAT MAN – No, but Rabelais sees her home after the show. We don't think so much of "Fair and Warmer." That might be a good show for New York, but it doesn't class with us. It isn't funny enough.
THE SICK MAN (with rising interest) – Do you mean to say you've got funnier shows than "Fair and Warmer"?
THE FAT MAN – We certainly have. Why, it can't begin to touch that thing of Shaw's called "Ah, There, Annie!"
THE SICK MAN – What Shaw's that?
THE FAT MAN – Regular Shaw.
THE SICK MAN – A lot of things must have been happening since I got sick. I hadn't heard he was dead. At that I always thought that vegetable truck was unhealthy.
THE FAT MAN – He isn't dead.
THE SICK MAN – Well, how about this "Ah, There, Annie!"? He never wrote that show down here.
THE FAT MAN – But he will.
THE SICK MAN (enormously impressed)
