Bessie. Thank God! (_Intensely_.) What'll he do now?

Harry (_Comes forward, slamming gate behind him_). Just like old times.
Nearly licked the life out of me for wanting to go away, and now I come
back he shies a confounded old shovel at my head. (_Fumes. Laughs a
little_). I wouldn't care, only poor little Ginger--Ginger's my chum
up in London--he will starve while I walk back all the way from here.
(_Faces Bessie blankly_.) I spent my last twopence on a shave. ... Out
of respect for the old man.

Bessie. I think, if you let me, I could manage to talk him round in a
week, maybe.

(_A muffled periodical bellowing had been heard faintly for some time_.)

Harry (_On the alert_). What's this? Who's making this row? Hark!
Bessie, Bessie. It's in your house, I believe.

Bessie (_Without stirring, drearily_). It's for me.

Harry (_Discreetly, whispering_). Good voice for a ship's deck in a
squall. Your husband? (_Steps out of lamplight_.)

Bessie. No. My father. He's blind. (_Pause_). I'm not married.

(_Bellowings grow louder_.)

Harry. Oh, I say. What's up? Who's murdering him?

Bessie (_Calmly_). I expect he's finished his tea. (_Bellowing continues