GUY. No, by the Lord, it won't. It will be efficient. Come, father, bear up. We'll soon have that site covered up again with another son for you, and there's no love like the love of a man for the child of his old age.
EPHRAIM. It won't be my child, Guy.
GUY. Then call it your grandson and dote upon him as a grandad should.
JOHN. Is this a time for your jesting, Mr. Guy?
GUY. Maybe you think you've the laugh of me, Mr. Heppenstall, you with your factory unburnt. Wait till my new building is complete with all the last word in machinery, Look to your business then. I'll show you what a factory should be.
EPHRAIM. Guy, you sound—almost—as if you are glad.
GUY. Why not? We're well insured.
EPHRAIM. And our customers, meantime?
GUY. Customers? Fire breaks all contracts.
EPHRAIM. Not mine. Not while there exists a way of carrying them out.