HUGH. [Pulling harder.] American, ye said.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Hastily.] Yiss, yiss, American Indian relish, that is.
NELI. Tut, 'tis our specialty, these American Indian relishes! We have several. Sit down by the fire while I look them up. [Wickedly.] As ye said. Mr. Roberts, 'tis cold here this morning.
DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, I must not trouble ye. [Looks at clock.] 'Tis ten minutes before twelve, an' my dinner will be ready at twelve.
[Pulls harder.
NELI. [To Hugh.] Keep him by the fire, lad.
DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, let me go!
[But Hugh holds on, and the Deacon's coat begins to come off.
NELI. [Sarcastically.] The relish—American Indian, ye said, I think—will make your dinner taste fine and grand!
DEACON ROBERTS. [Finding that without leaving his coat behind he is unable to go, he glowers at Hugh and speaks sweetly to Neli.] 'Tis a beautiful clock, Mrs. Williams, mum. But I haven't five minutes to spare.