Dick. Yes, dad. (He runs out as Sally opens: the door.)
Sally. Don't get run over now.
Jim. The young 'un misses the country. (Sits in armchair above fire.)
Sally (closing door). We all do that, Jim.
Jim. Aye. Streets are no sort of playground for a growing child. Did you get out while he was at school this afternoon?
Sally (gathering up tea-things). Oh, yes. There's not the cleaning to do in a single room to keep me in it all day.
Jim. No; better for you to get out a bit.
Sally (dully). It's no pleasure walking in the streets.
Jim. Not when there's shops to look at?
Sally. You can get tired of shops. (Tea-things on tray.)