Walter. Good evening, Mr. Pilling. (Seeing his objective.) You're all right as you are.
Jim. Shirt-sleeves don't seem respectful, sir. Walter (genially).. Rubbish. It's a pity if you can't be cool in your own room.
Jim (apologetically). The fire does make it hot in here.
Sally. And we must have a fire to boil the kettle, sir.
(Walter looks at the closed window, but, having experience, makes no suggestion. Jim knocks his pipe out on the fire-bar.)
Walter (seeing him, but too late to stop him). Oh, don't do that—here, try a pipe of mine. (Delving in his coat tails for pouch and offering it.)
Jim (shyly). Well, sir——
Walter. Go on, man. (Jim accepts and fills his pouch; Sally dusts a chair with the corner of the table cloth.) Now you know that chair didn't need dusting, Mrs. Pilling. (He sits.) Well, how's the garden, Mr. Pilling?
Jim. Oh, nicely, sir, nicely.
Walter. Yes. So I thought when I had a look at it over the hedge. (Turning to Sally.) I live next door to Mr. Vining, you know, Mrs. Pilling.