Brown. I want to give these letters to Miss Mary. Where is she?
Kate. Who're they for? Let's look at them.
Brown. Not for you anyway. (Loudly.) Miss Mary.
Kate. Ach quit deaving me with your shouting.
Mary (coming in). What's the matter? Oh! Letters! Any for me, Sam?
Brown. Aye. There's a post card for you, Miss Mary, and a registered letter for Mr. John. The posty says he'll call on the road back for the account when you sign it. (He hands the post card to Mary and looks carefully at the letter.) It's like the McMinn writing that. (He looks at Mary, who is reading and re-reading the post card with a puzzled expression.) Isn't Mr. Dan to be home to-day from Belfast, Miss Mary?
Mary. Eh?
Brown. Isn't Mr. Dan expected home to-day from Belfast?
Mary. Yes.
Brown. I wonder did he get the bellows sold? There was great talking about him last night in McArn's. Some said he had sold it and made a fortune. (He breaks off abruptly on seeing that Mary pays no attention to him, and then peers over to see what she is reading.) Post cards is interesting things. Picture post cards is.