Mathew. Stuff! You needn't lay on too hard to make bruises nor nothin'.
[Joe goes pale and puts his head in his hands for a moment, and he almost whispers.]
Joe. Good Lord! Bruises! Why, man, she've got flesh like a flower!
[Matthew suddenly holds out his hand to Joe, who shakes it feebly.]
Mathew. I almost envies thee, mate. Why, thee's fair daft wi' love still.
Joe. Of course I be! [Sullenly.] She's more nor meat and drink to me; allus have been since the first I took to she.
Mathew. All the more reason to beat her, and at once. [Sternly.] You'll lose her, sure enough, if you don't. It's the only chance for thee now, and I do knaw I'm speaking gospel truth.
[A long pause, in which Joe meditates with a grave face. He suddenly snaps the fingers of his right hand as he says quickly.]
Joe. I'll do it. It'll nearly be the finish of me, but if you're certain sure she'll love me more after it I'll shut my eyes and set my teeth and—and—yes, upon my soul, I'll do it! She'm more to me than all the world, and I'll save she and myself with her. But are you sure it will do any good?
[Matthew wrings Joe's hands and then slaps him on the back.]