MYSELF: It seems to be pretty well drained now.
THE OTHER MAN: Ugh!
MYSELF: I mean it seems dry enough.
THE OTHER MAN: It was drownded only last winter.
MYSELF: It looks to be good land.
THE OTHER MAN: It's lousy land; it's worth nowt.
MYSELF: Still, there are dark bits—black, you may say—and thereabouts it will be good.
THE OTHER MAN: That's where you're wrong; the lighter it is the better it is ... ah! that's where many of 'em go wrong. (Short silence.)
MYSELF: (cheerfully): A sort of loam?
THE OTHER MAN (calvinistically): Ugh!—sand!... (shaking his head). It blaws away with a blast of wind. (A longer silence.)