Thomas. Are you well of the fit, lad?
Martin. It was no fit. I was away ... for a while ... no, you will not believe me if I tell you.
Andrew. I would believe it, Martin. I used to have very long sleeps myself and very queer dreams.
Thomas. You had, till I cured you, taking you in hand and binding you to the hours of the clock. The cure that will cure yourself, Martin, and will waken you, is to put the whole of your mind on to your golden coach, to take it in hand, and to finish it out of face.
Martin. Not just now. I want to think ... to try and remember what I saw, something that I heard, that I was told to do.
Thomas. No, but put it out of your mind. There is no man doing business that can keep two things in his head. A Sunday or a Holyday now you might go see a good hurling or a thing of the kind, but to be spreading out your mind on anything outside of the workshop on common days, all coach building would come to an end.
Martin. I don't think it is building I want to do. I don't think that is what was in the command.
Thomas. It is too late to be saying that the time you have put the most of your fortune in the business. Set yourself now to finish your job, and when it is ended, maybe I won't begrudge you going with the coach as far as Dublin.
Andrew. That is it; that will satisfy him. I had a great desire myself, and I young, to go travelling the roads as far as Dublin. The roads are the great things; they never come to an end. They are the same as the serpent having his tail swallowed in his own mouth.
Martin. It was not wandering I was called to. What was it? What was it?