Mrs. Quinn—I don't see what way ye'll pay for shoe leather, if ye don't get some money soon.
Quinn—We'll live. The Union won't see us go under for the lack of a dollar or two.
Mrs. Quinn—I don't like livin' on the Union.
Quinn—We ain't beggars yet.
Mrs. Quinn—We're not far from it, Gawd knows.
(Picks up paper, and again reads. A pause.)
Quinn—(Irritably.) Can't ye stop rattlin' that paper?
(Mrs. Quinn glances at him casually, and calmly proceeds with her reading. It is the sort of calm that arouses temper in a jumpy person.)
Quinn—(Springing up.) Stop that infernal noise! Seems like a man might have peace in his own house. Here I am walkin' the streets all day, with me legs and head that tired I'm ready to drop, and when I get home at night, a clatter that would wake the dead, in me ears.
Mrs. Quinn—Yer blood may be Irish, John Quinn, but yer nerves are American.... I never saw such a changed man in me life. It's bad enough to have ye walk out on strike—