BUILDER. Every kind of humiliation. I spent the night in a stinking cell. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. Did they think I was going to eat the muck they shoved in? And all because in a moment of anger—which I regret, I regret!—I happened to strike my daughter, who was interfering between me and my wife. The thing would be funny if it weren't so disgusting. A man's house used to be sanctuary. What is it now? With all the world poking their noses in?
He stands before the fire with his head bent, excluding as it were his interviewer and all the world.
JOURNALIST. [Preparing to go] Thank you very much, Mr Builder. I'm sure I can do you justice. Would you like to see a proof?
BUILDER. [Half conscious of him] What?
JOURNALIST. Or will you trust me?
BUILDER. I wouldn't trust you a yard.
JOURNALIST. [At the door] Very well, sir; you shall have a proof, I promise. Good afternoon, and thank you.
BUILDER. Here!
But he is gone, and BUILDER is left staring at his brother, on whose face is still that look of whimsical commiseration.
RALPH. Take a pull, old man! Have a hot bath and go to bed.