ANN. In seven days. To say nothing of the stealing.
WELLWYN. [Vexed.] I blame myself-very much. Ought to have kept it locked up.
ANN. You ought to keep him locked up!
[There is heard a mild but authoritative knock.]
WELLWYN. Here's the Vicar!
ANN. What are you going to do about the rum?
WELLWYN. [Opening the door to CANON BERTLEY.] Come in, Vicar!
Happy New Year!
BERTLEY. Same to you! Ah! Ann! I've got into touch with her young husband—he's coming round.
ANN. [Still a little out of her plate.] Thank Go—-Moses!
BERTLEY. [Faintly surprised.] From what I hear he's not really a bad youth. Afraid he bets on horses. The great thing, WELLWYN, with those poor fellows is to put your finger on the weak spot.