EMMA.  Tha doesn’t try.  T’ other lads goes rattin’ or dog-feeghtin’ on a Sunday or to a football match of a Saturday afternoon.  Tha stays moonin’ about th’ ’ouse.  Tha’s not likely to understand folks.  Tha’s not sociable.

SAM.  Naw.  That’s reeght enough.  A nobbut get laughed at when A tries to be sociable an’ stand my corner down at th’ pub wi’ th’ rest o’ th’ lads.  It’s no use ma tryin’ to soop ale; A can’t carry th’ drink like t’ others.  A knaws A’ve ways o’ ma own.

EMMA.  Tha has that.

SAM.  A’m terrible lonesome, Emma.  That theer ‘ouse o’ mine, it do want a wench about th’ plaice.  Th’ engines is all reeght for days, but th’ neeghts is that lonesome-like tha wouldn’t believe.

EMMA.  Tha’s only thasel’ to blame.  It’s nought to do wi’ me, choosehow.

SAM.  Naw?  A’d—­A’d ’oped as ’ow it might ’ave, Emma.

EMMA (approaching threateningly).  Sam Horrocks, if tha doan’t tell me proper what tha means A ‘ll give tha such a slap in th’ mouth.

SAM (backing before her).  Tha does fluster a feller, Emma.  Just like ma moother.

EMMA.  A wish A ’ad bin.  A’d ’ave knocked some sense into thy silly yead.

SAM (suddenly and clumsily kneels above chair left of table).  Wilt tha ‘ave me, Emma?  A mak’ good money in th’engine-house.

EMMA.  Get oop, tha great fool.  If tha didn’t keep thasel’ so close wi’ tha moonin’ about in th’ engine-’ouse an’ never speakin’ a word to nobody, tha’d knaw A were keepin’ coompany wi’ Joe Hindle.

SAM (scrambling up).  Is that a fact, Emma?

EMMA.  Of course it’s a fact.  Banns ’ull be oop come Sunday fortneeght.  We’ve not ’idden it neither.  It’s just like the great blind idiot that tha art not to ‘a’ seen it long enough sin’.

SAM.  A wer’n’t aware.  By gum, A ’ad so ’oped as tha’d ’ave me, Emma.

EMMA (a little more softly).  A’m sorry if A’ve ’urt thee, Sam.

SAM.  Aye.  It were ma fault.  Eh, well, A think mebbe A’d best be goin’.

EMMA (lifts box to left).  Aye.  Parson’s coomin’ to see Mrs. Ormerod in a minute.

SAM (with pride).  A knaw all about that, anyhow.

EMMA.  She’m in a bad way.  A dunno masel’ as Parson can do much for ’er.

SAM.  It’s ‘ard lines on an ould un.  Well, yo’ ’ll not want me’ere.  A ‘ll be movin’ on. (Getting his cap out) No offense, Emma, A ’ope.  A’d ’ave asked thee first if A’d knawn as ’e were after thee.  A’ve bin tryin’ for long enough.

EMMA.  No.  Theer’s no offense, Sam.  Tha’s a good lad if tha art a fool, an’ mebbe tha’s not to blame for that.  Good-bye.

SAM.  Good-bye, Emma.  An’—­An’ A ’ope ‘e’ll mak’ thee ’appy.  A’d dearly like to coom to th’ weddin’ an’ shake ’is ’and.

(MRS. ORMEROD heard off right.)

EMMA.  A’ll see tha’s asked.  Theer’s Mrs. Ormerod stirrin’.  Tha’d best be gettin’.