Rip. Nay, he’s never a hundred yards from this; he’s hauling up his boat on the beach, maybe, or taking in his nets, and making all snug and taut for the night; and well he may, for the devil’s let loose, and there’ll be mischief afore morning. The devil likes these here Norfolk coasts, burn him!
Mar. And so Jonas lives here.
Rip. Jonas? No, Dan’l—Dan’l Druce.
Mar. Well, Dan’l Druce, if that’s what he calls himself. It’s a strange hole for such a man as he!
Rip. It’s a fit hole for such a dog as he! A surly, scowling, drunken, miserly, half-starved cur! Never was a sulky hound so far athwart the world’s ways as Dan’l Druce. Why, he’s as rich as a Jew, and never gave bit nor sup to a soul in the town. Oh, take my word for it, it’s a fit hole for such as he. There’s only one fitter, and I wish he was in it!
Mar. Stop that cursed red rag of yours, will you?
Rip. Come, come, civil words, master, civil words!
Mar. Set the example. I am this man’s brother.
Rip. (aside). Well, you’ve got the family tongue in your head, anyhow. If you’re his brother, maybe you know how he came to live here all alone?