Soft, did you say? I’ve seen him hike a man,
And a heftier man than you, over a dyke,
For yarking a lame beast. That drover’ll mind—
Ay, to his dying day, he’ll not forget
He once ran into something hard.
Jim:
Ay—ay ...
He’s that sort, is he? My luck is out again.
I want a quiet life, to be let alone:
And Krindlesyke won’t be a bed of roses,
With that sort ramping round. (Starting uneasily.)
What’s that? I thought ...
There’s no one in the other room, is there?
I’ve a feeling in my bones somebody’s listening.
You’ve not deceived me, Judith? You’ve not trapped ...
I’m all a-swither, sweating like a brock.
I little dreamt you’d turn against me, Judith:
But even here I don’t feel safe now.
Judith:
Safe?
Jim:
So you don’t know? I fancied everyone kenned.
Else why the devil should they stare like that?
And when you, too, looked ... Nay, how could you learn?
I’m davered, surely: Seppy Shank’s rum
Has gone to my noddle: drink’s the very devil
On an empty waim: and I never had a head.
What have I done? Ay, wouldn’t you like to ken,
To holler on the hounds?
Judith:
Jim!