Dor. He's all right, sir. He takes a bit of knowing. (Pillenger goes into the house)
Cray. Now, for the Lord's sake get me a drop of whiskey to wash the parson out of my mouth.
Dor. (C.) Whiskey it is! Take potash with it?
Cray. A little potash. (crosses R.)
Dor. Right-O! Have a look at "Sporting Life"?
Cray. What d'ye fancy for the Leger?
Dor. Centipede! It's a dead snip. You should have a bit on it.
Cray. No, thank ye. Don't like the name—it's too spidery. (Dorvaston goes up to kitchen window unseen by Crayll. Crayll crosses behind chair, gets "Sporting Life," comes round L. of table, puts hat on ground, stick behind him, and starts to read paper)
Dor. Cook! Cook! (at window Cook appears)
Car. Yes?