DEACON ROBERTS. [Chuckling.] Aye, Hughie lad, such is married life! Let a man marry his thoughts or a wife, for he cannot have both. I have chosen my thoughts.
HUGH. But the cat——
DEACON ROBERTS. [Briskly.] Aye, a man can keep a cat without risk.
HUGH. Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I dunno. That's it— [Hugh clutches his head, trying to recall something.] Uch, that's it! Neli told me to remember to ask ye if ye thought eggs could steal a cat whatever.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Puzzled.] Eggs steal a cat?
HUGH. [Troubled.] Nay, nay, cats steal an egg?
DEACON ROBERTS. [Startled and looking suspiciously at Hugh.] Cats? What cats?
HUGH. [With solemnity.] Aye, but I told Neli I'm no carin' about cats with heaven starin' me in the face. Deacon Roberts, those essays are grand an' wonderful.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Relieved.] Yiss, yiss! Hughie lad, theology is a means to salvation an' sometimes to other ends, too. But there's no money in theology. [Sighs.] And a man must live! [Points to corroded dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily.] Dear people, what beautiful herrin'! [Wipes moisture away from corners of his mouth and picks up a fish from dish, holding it, dripping, by tail.] Pickled?
HUGH. [Looking at corroded dish.] Tuppence.