Flannery: You are no less than a thief! (Snatches
at bellows.)
Rock: Thief yourself. Leave your hand off it!
Flannery: Give it up here for the man that
owns it!
Rock: You may set your coffin making for I'll
beat you to the ground.
Flannery: (As he clutches.) Ah, you have given
it a shove. It has blown a blast on yourself!
Rock: Yourself that blew it on me! Bad cess
to you! But I'll do the same bad turn upon you!
(Blows.)
Flannery: There is some footstep without.
Heave it in under the ashes.
Rock: Whist your tongue! (Flings bellows
behind hearth.)
(Conan comes in.)
Conan: With all the chattering of women I
have the train near lost. The car is coming for
me and I'll make no delay now but to set out.