Hillcrist. I don’t interfere with your mother in such matters.  She may go and call on the devil himself if she likes.

Jill.  I know you’re ever so much better than she is.

Hillcrist. That’s respectful.

Jill.  You do keep your prejudices out of your phiz.  But mother literally looks down her nose.  And she never forgives an “h.”  They’d get the “hell” from her if they took the “hinch.”

Hillcrist. Jill-your language!

Jill.  Don’t slime out of it, Dodo.  I say, mother ought to call on the Hornblowers. [No answer.] Well?

Hillcrist. My dear, I always let people have the last word.  It makes them—­feel funny.  Ugh!  My foot![Enter fellows, Left.] Fellows, send into the village and get another bottle of this stuff.

Jill.  I’ll go, darling.

     [She blow him a kiss, and goes out at the window.]

Hillcrist. And tell cook I’ve got to go on slops.  This foot’s worse.

Fellows. [Sympathetic] Indeed, sir.

Hillcrist. My third go this year, Fellows.

Fellows.  Very annoying, sir.

Hillcrist. Ye-es.  Ever had it?

Fellows.  I fancy I have had a twinge, sir.

Hillcrist. [Brightening] Have you?  Where?

Fellows.  In my cork wrist, sir.

Hillcrist. Your what?

Fellows.  The wrist I draw corks with.

Hillcrist. [With a cackle] You’d have had more than a twinge if you’d lived with my father.  H’m!

Fellows.  Excuse me, sir—­Vichy water corks, in my experience, are worse than any wine.

Hillcrist. [Ironically] Ah!  The country’s not what it was, is it,
Fellows?

Fellows.  Getting very new, sir.

Hillcrist. [Feelingly] You’re right.  Has Dawker come?

Fellows.  Not yet, sir.  The Jackmans would like to see you, sir.

Hillcrist. What about?

Fellows.  I don’t know, sir.

Hillcrist. Well, show them in.

Fellows. [Going] Yes, sir.

[Hillcrist turns his swivel chair round.  The Jackmans come in.  He, a big fellow about fifty, in a labourer’s dress, with eyes which have more in then than his tongue can express; she, a little woman with a worn face, a bright, quick glance, and a tongue to match.]

Hillcrist. Good morning, Mrs. Jackman!  Morning, Jackman!  Haven’t seen you for a long time.  What can I do?

     [He draws in foot, and breath, with a sharp hiss.]

Hillcrist. [In a down-hearted voice] We’ve had notice to quit, sir.

Hillcrist. [With emphasis] What!

Jackman.  Got to be out this week.