oes out_.
Spirit or no, drinking's better than talking.
Who was the sickly fellow to invent
That crazy notion spirit, now, I wonder?
But who'd have thought a burly lout like Morris
Would join the brabble? Sure he'll have in him
A pint more blood than I have; and he's all
For loving girls with words, three yards away!

JEAN _comes in_.

_Jean_.
Alone, my boy? Who was your handsome friend?

_Hamish_.
Whoever he was he's gone. But I'm still here.

_Jean_.
O yes, you're here; you're always here.

_Hamish_.
Of course,
And you know why.

_Jean_.
Do I? I've forgotten.

_Hamish_.
Jean, how can you say that? O how can you?

_Jean_.
Now don't begin to pity yourself, please.

_Hamish_.
Ah, I am learning now; it's truth they talk.
You would undo the skill of a spider's web
And take the inches of it in one line,
More easily than know a woman's thought.
I'm ugly on a sudden?

_Jean_.
The queer thing
About you men is that you will have women
Love in the way you do. But now learn this;
We don't love fellows for their skins; we want
Something to wonder at in the way they love.
A chap may be as rough as brick, if you like,
Yes, or a mannikin and grow a tail,--
If he's the spunk in him to love a girl
Mainly and heartily, he's the man for her.--
My soul, I've done with all you pretty men;
I want to stand in a thing as big as a wind;
And I can only get your paper fans!

_Hamish_.
You've done with me? You wicked Jean! You'll dare
To throw me off like this? After you've made,
O, made my whole heart love you?

_Jean_.
You are no good.
Your friend, now, seems a likely man; but you?--
I thought you were a torch; and you're a squib.

_Hamish_.
Not love you enough? Death, I'll show you then.

_Jean_.
Hands off, Hamish. There's smoke in you, I know,
And splutter too. Hands off, I say.

_Hamish_.
By God
Tell me to-morrow there's no force in me!

_Jean_.
Leave go, you little beast, you're hurting me:
I never thought you'ld be so strong as this.
Let go, or I'll bite; I mean it. You young fool,
I'm not for you. Take off your hands. O help!
[MORRIS _has come in unseen and rushes forward_.

_Morris_.
You beast! You filthy villainous fellow!--Now,
I hope I've hurt the hellish brain in you.
Take yourself off. You'll need a nurse to-night.
[HAMISH _slinks out_.
Poor girl! And are you sprained at all? That ruffian!

_Jean_.
O sir, how can I thank you? You don't know
What