EMMA (without looking up).  What’s that to do wi’ thee?

SAM (apologetically).  A were only askin’.  Tha needn’t be short wi’ a chap.

EMMA.  She’s in scullery washin’ ’er, if tha wants to knaw.

SAM.  Oh!

EMMA (looking at him over her shoulder after a slight pause). 
Doan’t tha tak’ thy cap off in ’ouse, Sam Horrocks?

SAM.  Naw.

EMMA.  Well, tha can tak’ it off in this ‘ouse or get t’ t’other side o’ door.

SAM. (Takes off his cap and stuffs it in his left pocket after trying his right and finding the ball of waste in it.) Yes, Emma.

(EMMA resumes work with her back towards him and waits for him to speak.  But he is not ready yet.)

EMMA.  Well, what dost want?

SAM.  Nought.—­Eh, but tha art a gradely wench.

EMMA.  What’s that to do wi’ thee?

SAM.  Nought.

EMMA.  Then just tha mind thy own business, an’ doan’t pass compliments behind folks’ backs.

SAM.  A didn’t mean no ’arm.

EMMA.  Well?

SAM.  It’s a fine day, isn’t it?  For th’ time o’ th’ year?

EMMA.  Aye.

SAM.  A very fine day.

EMMA.  Aye.

SAM (desperately).  It’s a damned fine day.

EMMA.  Aye.

SAM (after a moment).  Dost know my ’ouse, Emma?

EMMA.  Aye.

SAM.  Wert ever in it?

EMMA.  Not sin’ tha moother died.

SAM.  Naw.  A suppose not.  Not sin’ ma moother died.  She were a fine woman, ma moother, for all she were bed-ridden.

EMMA.  She were better than ’er son, though that’s not saying much neither.

SAM.  Naw, but tha does mind ma ’ouse, Emma, as it were when she were alive?

EMMA.  Aye.

SAM.  A ‘ve done a bit at it sin’ them days.  Got a new quilt on bed from Co-op.  Red un, it is, wi’ blue stripes down ’er.

EMMA.  Aye.

SAM.  Well, Emma?

EMMA (over her shoulder).  Well, what?  What’s thy ‘ouse an’ thy quilt to do wi’ me?

SAM.  Oh, nought.—­Tha doesn’t ’elp a feller much, neither.

EMMA. (Rises and faces him.  SAM is behind corner table and backs a little before her.) What’s tha gettin’ at, Sam Horrocks?  Tha’s got a tongue in thy faice, hasn’t tha?

SAM.  A suppose so.  A doan’t use it much though.

EMMA.  No.  Tha’s not much better than a tongue-tied idiot, Sam Horrocks, allays mooning about in th’ engine-house in daytime an’ sulkin’ at ’ome neeghttime.

SAM.  Aye, A’m lonely sin’ ma moother died.  She did ‘ave a way wi’ ‘er, ma moother.  Th’ ’ould plaice ‘as not bin t’ same to me sin’ she went.  Daytime, tha knaws, A’m all reeght.  Tha sees, them engines, them an’ me’s pals.  They talks to me an’ A understands their ways.  A doan’t some’ow seem to understand th’ ways o’ folks like as A does th’ ways o’ them engines.