TED MORRIS.
You're a dear good soul, aunt. Let me come down for a day or two and bring my books with me—and if ever I do want help from anyone—why—why, you know I should rather take it from you than from anybody else.
MR. BEN DIXON.
(Aside, disgusted.) I thought he wouldn't stick to it.
MRS. BEN DIXON.
Ah, well, come, that's a bit more sensible. Mind you come as soon as you can, and stop as long as you can, and as for any bit of help, lad, to start you, why you could make that up to a couple of broken-down invalids like Ben and me in less than a year, what with physic and stuff.
TED MORRIS.
(Laughs.) I shall be sorry for my practice if my patients all look like you, aunt.
MRS. BEN DIXON.
Ah, that's like you all. I get no sympathy. (Glances round to Jack, and then draws Ted aside.) Ted, that artist chum of yours looks as if a change would do him good. Do you think he'd like to come?