POACHER
(Offers the bag)
Here ‘tis. We thought it was yours.
PURL
This? Whyever would you?
POACHER
Well, uh . . . ’cause you’re the doctor, an’ all.
PURL
(With fine contempt)
Oh, of course.
(He examines it)
You got it from the river, I presume.
POACHER
(Suddenly wary)
. . . Yes.
PURL
Calm yourself, man; I’m not about to ask on which side. However—Mrs. Bentham, have I lost a bag recently?
MRS. BENTHAM
Not recently, no.
PURL
No. And on closer examination, I don’t believe this is mine, either. At least . . . I can’t be entirely sure, one way or the other.
LEAN
Why don’t you open it up and see?
PURL
Why not, indeed.
As the clasps SNAP open, a BOLT OF LIGHTNING strikes nearby with a searing crackle. Everybody gasps.
SECOND BOY
Holy Christ.
MRS. BENTHAM
Oh, ah.