Hodson [prosaically].  Yes sir.

Matthew.  Well, I’ll be goin.  Good mornin to you kindly, sir.

Broadbent.  You have some distance to go, Mr Haffigan:  will you allow me to drive you home?

Matthew.  Oh sure it’d be throublin your honor.

Broadbent.  I insist:  it will give me the greatest pleasure, I assure you.  My car is in the stable:  I can get it round in five minutes.

Matthew.  Well, sir, if you wouldn’t mind, we could bring the pig
I’ve just bought from Corny.

Broadbent [with enthusiasm].  Certainly, Mr Haffigan:  it will be quite delightful to drive with a pig in the car:  I shall feel quite like an Irishman.  Hodson:  stay with Mr Haffigan; and give him a hand with the pig if necessary.  Come, Larry; and help me. [He rushes away through the shrubbery].

Larry [throwing the paper ill-humoredly on the chair].  Look here,
Tom! here, I say! confound it! [he runs after him].

Matthew [glowering disdainfully at Hodson, and sitting down on Cornelius’s chair as an act of social self-assertion] N are you the valley?

Hodson.  The valley?  Oh, I follow you:  yes:  I’m Mr Broadbent’s valet.

Matthew.  Ye have an aisy time of it:  you look purty sleek. [With suppressed ferocity] Look at me!  Do I look sleek?

Hodson [sadly].  I wish I ad your ealth:  you look as hard as nails.  I suffer from an excess of uric acid.

Matthew.  Musha what sort o disease is zhouragassid?  Didjever suffer from injustice and starvation?  Dhat’s the Irish disease.  It’s aisy for you to talk o sufferin, an you livin on the fat o the land wid money wrung from us.

Hodson [Coolly].  Wots wrong with you, old chap?  Has ennybody been doin ennything to you?

Matthew.  Anythin timme!  Didn’t your English masther say that the blood biled in him to hear the way they put a rint on me for the farm I made wid me own hans, and turned me out of it to give it to Billy Byrne?

Hodson.  Ow, Tom Broadbent’s blood boils pretty easy over ennything that appens out of his own country.  Don’t you be taken in by my ole man, Paddy.

Matthew [indignantly].  Paddy yourself!  How dar you call me Paddy?

Hodson [unmoved].  You just keep your hair on and listen to me.  You Irish people are too well off:  that’s what’s the matter with you. [With sudden passion] You talk of your rotten little farm because you made it by chuckin a few stownes dahn a hill!  Well, wot price my grenfawther, I should like to know, that fitted up a fuss clawss shop and built up a fuss clawss drapery business in London by sixty years work, and then was chucked aht of it on is ed at the end of is lease withaht a penny for his goodwill.  You talk of evictions! you that cawn’t be moved until you’ve run up eighteen months rent.  I once ran up four weeks