Harry (_Lower tone_). Did he ever tell you what mother died of?

Bessie. Yes. (_A little bitter_.) From impatience.

Harry (_Makes a gesture with his arm; speaks vaguely but with feeling_).
I believe you have been very good to my old man....

Bessie (_Tentative_). Wouldn't you try to be a son to him?

Harry (_Angrily_). No contradicting; is that it? You seem to know my dad
pretty well. And so do I. He's dead nuts on having his own way--and I've
been used to have my own too long. It's the deuce of a fix.

Bessie. How could it hurt you not to contradict him for a while--and
perhaps in time you would get used. ..

Harry (_Interrupts sulkily_). I ain't accustomed to knuckle under.
There's a pair of us. Hagberd's both. I ought to be thinking of my
train.

Bessie (_Earnestly_). Why? There's no need. Let us get away up the road
a little.

Harry (_Through his teeth_). And no money for the fare. (_Looks up_.)
Sky's come overcast. Black, too. It'll be a wild, windy night... to walk
the high road on. But I and wild nights are old friends wherever the
free wind blows.

Bessie (_Entreating_). No need. No need. (_Looks apprehensively at
Hagberd's cottage. Takes a couple of steps up as if to draw Harry