Burlacombe.  ‘Tes all very airy talkin’; what shude ’e du, then?

Freman. [Excitedly] Go over to Durford and say to that doctor:  “Yu come about my missis, an’ zee what I’ll du to ‘ee.”  An’ take ’er ‘ome an’ zee she don’t misbe’ave again.

Clyst.  ’E can’t take ’er ef ‘er don’ want t’ come—­I’ve ’eard lawyer, that lodged wi’ us, say that.

Freman.  All right then, ’e ought to ’ave the law of ’er and ’er doctor; an’ zee ’er goin’s on don’t prosper; ’e’d get damages, tu.  But this way ‘tes a nice example he’m settin’ folks.  Parson indade!  My missis an’ the maids they won’t goo near the church to-night, an’ I wager no one else won’t, neither.

Jarland. [Lurching with his pewter up to Godleigh] The beggar!  I’ll be even wi’ un.

Godleigh. [Looking at him in doubt] ’Tes the last, then, Tam.

     [Having received his beer, Jarland stands, leaning against the
     bar, drinking.]

Burlacombe. [Suddenly] I don’ goo with what curate’s duin—­’tes tiff soft ‘earted; he’m a muney kind o’ man altogether, wi’ ’is flute an’ ’is poetry; but he’ve a-lodged in my ‘ouse this year an’ mare, and always ’ad an ‘elpin’ ‘and for every one.  I’ve got a likin’ for him an’ there’s an end of it.

Jarland.  The coward!

Trustaford.  I don’ trouble nothin’ about that, Tam Jarland. [Turning to Burlacombe] What gits me is ’e don’t seem to ’ave no zense o’ what’s his own praperty.

Jarland.  Take other folk’s property fast enough!

[He saws the air with his empty.  The others have all turned to him, drawn by the fascination that a man in liquor has for his fellow-men.  The bell for church has begun to rang, the sun is down, and it is getting dusk.]

He wants one on his crop, an’ one in ’is belly; ’e wants a man to take an’ gie un a gude hidin zame as he oughter give ’is fly-be-night of a wife.

     [Strangway in his dark clothes has entered, and stands by the
     door, his lips compressed to a colourless line, his thin,
     darkish face grey-white]

Zame as a man wid ha’ gi’en the doctor, for takin’ what isn’t his’n.

     All but Jarland have seen Strangway.  He steps forward, Jarland
     sees him now; his jaw drops a little, and he is silent.

Strangway.  I came for a little brandy, Mr. Godleigh—­feeling rather faint.  Afraid I mightn’t get through the service.

Godleigh. [With professional composure] Marteil’s Three Star, zurr, or ’Ennessy’s?

Strangway. [Looking at Jarland] Thank you; I believe I can do without, now. [He turns to go.]

     [In the deadly silence, Godleigh touches the arm of Jarland,
     who, leaning against the bar with the pewter in his hand, is
     staring with his strange lowering eyes straight at Strangway.]