s A need do.

EMMA. Well, A'll do box up.

(_Crosses to table right and gets cord._)

SARAH. Aye.

EMMA. All reeght.

(_Exit_ SARAH. _A man's face appears outside at the window. He
surveys the room, and then the face vanishes as he knocks at the
door._)

Who's theer?

SAM (_without_). It's me, Sam Horrocks. (_EMMA crosses left and
opens door._) May A coom in?

EMMA. What dost want?

SAM (_on the doorstep_). A want a word wi' thee, Emma Brierley. A
followed thee oop from factory and A've bin waitin' out theer
till A'm tired o' waitin'.

EMMA. Well, tha'd better coom in. A 'aven't time to talk wi' thee
at door.

(EMMA _lets him in, closes door, and, leaving him standing in the
middle of the room, resumes work on her knees at the box._ SAM
HORROCKS _is a hulking young man of a rather vacant expression. He
is dressed in mechanic's blue dungarees. His face is oily and his
clothes stained. He wears boots, not clogs. He mechanically takes
a ball of oily black cotton-waste from his right pocket when in
conversational difficulties and wipes his hands upon it. He has a
red muffler round his neck without collar, and his shock affair
hair is surmounted by a greasy black cap, which covers perhaps
one tenth of it._)

SAM (_after watching_ EMMA's _back for a moment_). Wheer's Mrs.
Ormerod?

EMMA (_without looking up_). What's that to do wi' thee?

SAM (_apologetically_). A were only askin'. Tha needn't be short
wi' a chap.

EMMA. She's in scullery washin' 'er, if tha wants to knaw.

SAM. Oh!

EMMA (_looking at him over her shoulder after a slight pause_).
Doan't tha tak' thy cap off in 'ouse, Sam Horrocks?

SAM. Naw.

EMMA. Well, tha can tak' it off in this 'ouse or get t' t'other
side o' door.

SAM. (_Takes off his cap and stuffs it in his left pocket after
trying his right and finding the ball of waste in it._) Yes, Emma.

(EMMA _resumes work with her back towards him and waits for him to
speak. But he is not ready yet._)

EMMA. Well, what dost want?

SAM. Nought.--Eh, but tha art a gradely wench.

EMMA. What's that to do wi' thee?

SAM. Nought.

EMMA. Then just tha mind thy own business, an' doan't pass
compliments behind folks' backs.

SAM. A didn't mean no 'arm.

EMMA. Well?

SAM. It's a fine day, isn't it? For th' time o' th' year?

EMMA. Aye.

SAM. A very fine day.

EMMA. Aye.

SAM (_desperately_). It's a damned fine day.

EMMA. Aye.

SAM (_after a moment_). Dost know my 'o