JIM. Well, can't you talk in the "Moonraker's"!
(The girls go out R. to house, MAGGIE last.)
HOBSON. Yes, with Sam Minns, and Denton and Tudsbury there.
JIM. It's private, then. What's the trouble, Henry?
(HOBSON waves JIM into arm-chair R. C. and sits in front of counter.)
HOBSON. They're the trouble. (Indicates door to house.) Do your daughters worry you, Jim?
JIM. Nay,—(sits R. C.)—they mostly do as I bid them, and the missus does the leathering if they don't.
HOBSON. Ah, Jim, a wife's a handy thing, and you don't know it proper till she's taken from you. I felt grateful for the quiet when my Mary fell on rest, but I can see my mistake now. I used to think I was hard put to it to fend her off when she wanted summat out of me, but the dominion of one woman is Paradise to the dominion of three.
JIM. It sounds a sad case, Henry.
HOBSON. I'm a talkative man by nature, Jim. You know that.