" "Beatey Builder!" "Beat 'is wife-er!"
"Beatey Builder!"

BUILDER stands quite motionless, staring, with the street lamp
lighting up a queer, rather pitiful defiance on his face. The
voices swell. There comes a sudden swish and splash of water, and
broken yells of dismay.

TOPPING'S VOICE. Scat! you young devils!

The sound of scuffling feet and a long-drawnout and distant
"Miaou!"

BUILDER stirs, shuts the window, draws the curtains, goes to the
armchair before the fireplace and sits down in it.

TOPPING enters with a little tray on which is a steaming jug of
fluid, some biscuits and a glass. He comes stealthily up level with
the chair. BUILDER stirs and looks up at him.

TOPPING. Excuse me, sir, you must 'ave digested yesterday morning's
breakfast by now--must live to eat, sir.

BUILDER. All right. Put it down.

TOPPING. [Putting the tray down on the table and taking up BUILDER'S
pipe] I fair copped those young devils.

BUILDER. You're a good fellow.

TOPPING. [Filling the pipe] You'll excuse me, sir; the Missis--has come
back, sir--

BUILDER stares at him and TOPPING stops. He hands BUILDER the
filled pipe and a box of matches.

BUILDER. [With a shiver] Light the fire, Topping. I'm chilly.

While TOPPING lights the fire BUILDER puts the pipe in his mouth and
applies a match to it. TOPPING, having lighted the fire, turns to
go, gets as far as half way, then comes back level with the table
and regards the silent brooding figure in the chair.

BUILDER. [Suddenly] Give me that paper on the table. No; the other
one--the Will.

TOPPING takes up the Will and gives it to him.

TOPPING. [With much hesitation] Excuse me, sir. It's pluck that get's
'em 'ome, sir--begging your pardon.

BUILDER has resumed his attitude and does not answer.

[In a voice just touched with feeling] Good-night, sir.

BUILDER. [Without turning his head] Good-night.

TOPPING has gone. BUILDER sits drawing at his pipe between the
firelight and the light from the standard lamp. He takes the pipe
out of his mouth and a quiver passes over his face. With a half
angry gesture he rubs the back of his hand across his eyes.

BUILDER. [To himself] Pluck! Pluck! [His lips quiver again. He
presses them hard together, puts his pipe back into his mouth, and,
taking the Will, thrusts it