DEACON ROBERTS. [Shortly.] Dear to-day.
HUGH. [Eyeing dish dreamily.] I dunno. Neli——
DEACON ROBERTS. [Eyes glittering, cutting straight through sentence and pointing to cheese.] Cheese?
HUGH. A shillin', I'm thinkin'.
DEACON ROBERTS. A shillin', Hugh? [Deacon Roberts lifts knife and drops it lightly on edge of cheese. The leaf it pares off he picks up and thrusts into his mouth, greedily pushing in the crumbs. Then he pauses and looks slyly at Hugh.] Was it sixpence ye said, Hugh?
HUGH. [Gazing toward the fire and the volume of essays.] Yiss, sixpence, I think.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Sarcastically.] Still too dear, Hugh!
HUGH. [Sighing.] I dunno, it might be dear. [With more animation.] Deacon, when Babylon fell——
DEACON ROBERTS. [Wipes his mouth and, interrupting Hugh, speaks decisively.] No cheese. [He removes his tall Welsh beaver hat, mops off his bald white head, and, pointing up to the shelves, begins to dust out inside of hatband again, but with a deliberate air of preparation.] What is that up there, Hughie lad?
HUGH. [Trying to follow the direction of the big red wavering forefinger.] Ye mean that? A B C In-fants' Food, I think.