(_Looks about_.) I wonder where the nearest bobby is! No. They would
want to bundle me neck and crop into chokey. (_Shudders_.) Perhaps. It
makes me dog sick to think of being locked up. Haven't got the nerve.
Not for prison. (_Leans against lamp-post_.) And not a cent for my fare.
I wonder if that girl now...
Bessie (Coming hastily forward, plate with bread and meat in hand). I
didn't take time to get anything else....
Harry (_Begins to eat_). You're not standing treat to a beggar. My dad
is a rich man--you know.
Bessie (_Plate in hand_). You resemble your father.
Harry. I was the very image of him in face from a boy--(_Eats_)--and
that's about as far as it goes. He was always one of your domestic
characters. He looked sick when he had to go to sea for a fortnight's
trip. (_Laughs_.) He was all for house and home.
Bessie. And you? Have you never wished for a home? (_Goes off with empty
plate and puts it down hastily on Carvil's bench--out of sight_.)
Harry (_Left in front_). Home! If I found myself shut up in what the
old man calls a home, I would kick it down about my ears on the third
day--or else go to bed and die before the week was out. Die in a
house--ough!
Bessie (_Returning; stops and speaks from garden railing_). And where is
it that you would wish to die?
Harry. In the bush, in the sea, on some blamed mountain-top for choice.
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