[Joe's eyes rest on his friend's face and his face suddenly lights up with a smile.]
Joe. She's the best sort of woman a man could 'ave for a sweetheart when her moods is off, and it's only lately her 'ave altered so, and I expect it's really all my fault.
Mathew. Certainly it is; you've never shown master yet, and you must this very night.
Joe. [Coughs nervously.] How?
Mathew. You must thrash her before it is too late. Have 'e a cane?
[Joe jumps up, twists round his necktie, undoes it, ties it again—marches up and down the little kitchen, and wheels round on Matthew.]
Joe. You'm a fair brute, Matthew Trevaskis.
Mathew. And you'm a coward, Joe Pengilly. [Matthew clasps his hands round his raised knee and nods at Joe, who sits.] I've given you golden advice, and if only a pal had given it to me years ago I shouldn't be in the place I'm in now, but be master of my own wife and my own chimney-corner.
[Joe puts his hands in his pockets and tilts back his chair as he gazes up at the ceiling as if for inspiration.]
Joe. I cain't stomach the idea at all; it's like murderin' a baby, somehow.