Jones. It's a cryin' shame. Why, look at me wi' eighteen bob a week same as him, an' the mouths A've got to fill. Ma missus as 'ad eleven of 'em in _'_er time. A were wed at eighteen, A were.
Pullen (_quarrelsomely_). Tha's never got eleven childer. Don't try to kid me.
Jones. Not livin', A haven't. Some of _'_em's dead--thank God.
Livesey. Coom, draw it mild, lad. Yon's blasphemy.
Jones (_sullenly_). No, _'_tisn't, neither. A do thank God for it. Poor little beggars, they're better dead nor alive an' starvin' wi' th' rest. A man can pull his belt oop a hole an' suck a pebble if he's hunger-mad. Th' kids can't do that.
Livesey. They wouldn't need if tha'd keep off the booze.
Jones (_fiercely_). A don't drink. A don't like beer. It turns my'stomach. (_Up stage round R._)
Pullen (_rising disgustedly and walking away as if from a portent_). Call thasel' a mon and don't like beer? (_He turns to light his pipe at a gas, but fails to get it through the wire, mutters "Blast," and takes a match out and lights up._)
Jones. What for? To mak' me forget. (_Going down to sit l. of table._) A must forget soomtimes. A'd go crazed if A didn't forget. (_Sitting._)
Alcott (_rising and going up c._) It's a hell. Damn Thompson. Damn him an' all that's hissen.
Jones (_protestingly_). Damn _him_, aye, but not all that's hissen. That means Miss Thompson, an' she's a blessed angel.
Pullen (_coming forward_). Bah! Her an angel, her wi' her 'ard proud mug goin' about as if we was dirt at 'er feet.
Jones. Aye, an angel, lad. That's her; 'ard as nails she looks an proud as Lucifer but tha's not wed; tha's not seed yon wench sittin' i' thy kitchen nussin' thy kids. Maybe she's never sent thee fine grub when tha was sick.
Jones No, but she'd know if tha wert, an tha'd know she knowed it, an' all. Not as she maks a fuss about it It's all done quiet. A dunno if Thompson _'_isself so much as knows a word about it. Alcott (_l.c. at back_). Aye, that's reeght. Sorry A cursed _'_er. Theer were a two three bottles of champagne an' soom jelly an' stuff waitin to whoam for me last neeght when A get theer from docto? Not a word about who'd sent them, but----
Pullen. Eh! _'_Ere lads, A feels bad. Took sudden, some road.