John. Aye. Every ha'penny; and he took a hundred pounds off me as well. And now, poor soul, he hasn't a shilling, barring an odd pound or two I give him once or twice a month.
Sarah. Well! Well! And he's been a long time this way?
John. Aye. (Reflectively.) I suppose it's coming on now to twenty years.
Sarah. It's a wonder he wouldn't make some shapes to try and get a situation somewhere.
John. Ach, well, you know, when Annie, the wife, died and left Mary a wee bit of a wain, I was lonesome, and Daniel was always a right heartsome fellow, and I never asked him about going when he came here.
Sarah. He must be rather an expense to you. Pocket money for tobacco, and whenever he goes out a night to McArn's, its a treat all round to who is in at the time. And his clothes and boots, and let alone that, his going to see people about patents and things up to Belfast three or four times in the year. If he was in a situation and doing for himself, you could save a bit of money.
John (pensively). Aye. Heth and I never thought much of that, Sarah. I could right enough. I'll think over that now. (He looks at her, and then begins in a bashful manner.) You weren't at Ballyannis School fête, Sarah?
Sarah. No. But I heard you were there. Why?
John (coming still closer). I was expecting to see you.
Sarah (contemptuously). I don't believe in young girls going to them things.