Mrs. Freeman: He’s not happy.
Mr. Freeman: If a man neglects his work as John’s doing, he can’t expect to be happy.
Mrs. Freeman: Has he told you he isn’t going to spend Christmas with us?
Mr. Freeman: Where’s he going...?
Mrs. Freeman: To stay with Mr. ... I don’t know his name ... his friend.
Mr. Freeman: Funny-lookin’ feller ... always in the house. I know. That’s another thing; who is this feller?... I don’t know.
Mrs. Freeman (taking her son’s part): He’s always had the attic for his own ... hasn’t he? ... with his own friends.
Mr. Freeman: I know. I’ve never interfered. I’ve no wish to interfere ... when he was a baby in the nursery up there—or a schoolboy with his friends, but now ... here’s this feller ... he called yesterday when John was out—I met him on the stairs ... didn’t know him from Adam; we grinned ... dam’ silly.... Hullo!
[There has been a prolonged moaning wailing sound—like the cry of some agonised ghost. Mr. Freeman hurries to the window.
It’s Frankie ... in the new car; with her father. Hullo! How are you! (He waves cordially. The window being shut there it not the remotest chance of his being heard.) Hullo, Frankie ... pretty girl she’s getting. (He comes away from the window.) ’Spose she’s come for John. I shall speak to him to-night, when he comes in.