Mrs. O’Brien: Pay cash? And Oi’d loike to know how the loikes of me can pay cash whin Oi haven’t a cint to my name. Bad cess to yez, yez ould skin-flint. [Shakes fist in his face.] Yez would skin a flea for its hide, yez would. May the saints forgit yez and the devil fly away with yez. [Exit.]
Jack: Merciful heavens, dad, isn’t she a howly terror? But what gets me is after raising my hope to the high pinnacle of sixty dollars, she shooed them away, worse luck! I confess, dad, that I’m an out and out failure. I’ve never put in such a day in all my life. I’ll sell newspapers, shovel coal, dig ditches or—or—or even teach school before I’ll put in another. I’m through. Not another customer will I wait on for all the money in the world. [Bell tinkles.] There goes that darned bell. It’s me for the back shop this time. [Hurries toward door L.]
Mr. Wilson [looks toward entrance]: Why, it’s Betty Moffat back, I wonder—
Jack [rushes back]: I’ll wait on her, dad. Clear out.
Enter Betty.
Mr. Wilson: But I thought—
Jack: Don’t, it’s bad for the brain. Hustle. [Exit Mr. Wilson.] Why, Bett—Miss Moffat, I didn’t think—
Betty [mischievously]: Don’t, it’s bad for the brain. [Both laugh.] I’ve come back to tell you you were right and—
Jack [puzzled]: Right? What about?