CLYST. Passin' down the lane on my bike. Wonderful sorrowful-fine music 'e played. The ponies they did come round 'e—yu cud zee the tears rennin' down their chakes; 'twas powerful sad. 'E 'adn't no 'at on.
FREMAN. [Jeering] No; 'e 'ad a bird on 'is 'ead.
CLYST. [With a silencing grin] He went on playin' an' playin'. The ponies they never muved. An' all the dimsy-white flowers they waved and waved, an' the wind it went over 'em. Gav' me a funny feelin'.
GODLEIGH. Clyst, yu take the cherry bun!
CLYST. Where's that cider, Mr. Godleigh?
GODLEIGH. [Bending over the cider] Yu've a— 'ad tu much already,
Tim.
[The door is opened, and TAM JARLAND appears. He walks rather unsteadily; a man with a hearty jowl, and sullen, strange; epileptic-looking eyes.]
CLYST. [Pointing to JARLAND] 'Tis Tam Jarland there 'as the cargo aboard.
JARLAND. Avenin', all! [To GODLEIGH] Pinto' beer. [To JIM BERE]
Avenin', Jim.
[JIM BERE looks at him and smiles.]