Mineog: No, but yourself that has too much bulk.
Hazel: (Struggling.) There now is a tear!
Mineog: (Taking his arm.) Mind now, you'll have it destroyed.
Hazel: Give me a hand, so.
Mineog: (Helping him gently.) Have a care—it's a bit tender in the seams——give me here your hand—it is caught in the rip of the lining.
John: (Coming in, puts pie on table.) Wait now, sir, till I'll aid you to handle Mr. Hazel's coat.
(Whips off coat, takes up other coat, hangs both on pegs.)
The apple pie, Sir.
(Hazel sits down, gasping and wiping his face. Mineog turns his back.)
John: Is there anything after happening, Mr. Hazel?