Bessie. Come away. He sleeps very little.
Harry (_Strolls down_). He has taken an everlasting jamming hitch round
the whole business. (_Vexed_.) Cast it loose who may. (_Contemptuous
exclamation_.) To-morrow. Pooh! It'll be just another mad today.
Bessie. It's the brooding over his hope that's done it. People teased
him so. It's his fondness for you that's troubled his mind.
Harry. Aye. A confounded shovel on the head. The old man had always a
queer way of showing his fondness for me.
Bessie. A hopeful, troubled, expecting old man--left alone--all alone.
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.
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