*Gets up and brushes off dust from floor. Looks around and sees no one, remembers something he has read.
Finds a piece of wood and some paint, and writes."
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.
I lift my lamp beside the golden door."
*Goes and finds a lamp to hang outside the door, rips off door and replaces it with golden beads*