BROADBENT. I certainly have no headache. Did you try the pottine,
Hodson?

HODSON. I just took a mouthful, sir. It tasted of peat: oh!
something horrid, sir. The people here call peat turf. Potcheen
and strong porter is what they like, sir. I'm sure I don't know
how they can stand it. Give me beer, I say.

BROADBENT. By the way, you told me I couldn't have porridge for
breakfast; but Mr Doyle had some.

HODSON. Yes, sir. Very sorry, sir. They call it stirabout, sir:
that's how it was. They know no better, sir.

BROADBENT. All right: I'll have some tomorrow.

Hodson goes to the house. When he opens the door he finds Nora
and Aunt Judy on the threshold. He stands aside to let them pass,
with the air of a well trained servant oppressed by heavy trials.
Then he goes in. Broadbent rises. Aunt Judy goes to the table and
collects the plates and cups on the tray. Nora goes to the back
of the rustic seat and looks out at the gate with the air of a
woman accustomed to have nothing to do. Larry returns from the
shrubbery.

BROADBENT. Good morning, Miss Doyle.

AUNT JUDY [thinking it absurdly late in the day for such a
salutation]. Oh, good morning. [Before moving his plate] Have you