Flannery: What do you mean saying that?
Rock: The first one I have to do good to is
myself.
Flannery: Is it that you would grab the benefit
of the bellows?
Rock: In troth I will. I've got a hold of it, and
by cripes I'll knock a good turn out of it.
Flannery: To rob the country and the poor for
your own profit? You are a class of man that is
gathering all for himself.
Rock: It is not worth while we to fall out of
friendship. I will use but the one blast.
Flannery: You have no right or call to meddle
with it.
Rock: The first thing I will meddle with is my
own rick of turf. And I'll give you leave to go do
the same with your own umbrella, or whatever
property you may own.
Flannery: Sooner than be covetous like yourself
I'd live and die in a ditch, and be buried
from the Poorhouse!
Rock: Turf being black and light in the hand,
and gold being shiny and weighty, there will be
no delay in turning every sod into a solid brick of
gold. I give you leave to do the same thing, and
we'll be two rich men inside a half an hour!