Wha’ I was goin’ tell you was—­I ’ve had a row with her. [He waves the reticule.] Have a drink, Jonessh ’d never have got in without you—­tha ’s why I ‘m giving you a drink.  Don’ care who knows I’ve scored her off.  Th’ cat! [He throws his feet up on the sofa.] Don’ you make a noise, whatever you do.  You pour out a drink—­you make yourself good long, long drink—­you take cigarette—­you take anything you like.  Sh’d never have got in without you. [Closing his eyes.] You’re a Tory—­you’re a Tory Socialist.  I’m Liberal myself—­have a drink—­I ’m an excel’nt chap.

[His head drops back.  He, smiling, falls asleep, and Jones stands looking at him; then, snatching up JACK’s glass, he drinks it off.  He picks the reticule from off Jack’s shirt-front, holds it to the light, and smells at it.]

Jones.  Been on the tiles and brought ’ome some of yer cat’s fur. [He stuffs it into JACK’s breast pocket.]

Jack. [Murmuring.] I ’ve scored you off!  You cat!

     [Jones looks around him furtively; he pours out whisky and
     drinks it.  From the silver box he takes a cigarette, puffs at
     it, and drinks more whisky.  There is no sobriety left in him.]

Jones.  Fat lot o’ things they’ve got ’ere! [He sees the crimson purse lying on the floor.] More cat’s fur.  Puss, puss! [He fingers it, drops it on the tray, and looks at jack.] Calf!  Fat calf! [He sees his own presentment in a mirror.  Lifting his hands, with fingers spread, he stares at it; then looks again at jack, clenching his fist as if to batter in his sleeping, smiling face.  Suddenly he tilts the rest o f the whisky into the glass and drinks it.  With cunning glee he takes the silver box and purse and pockets them.] I ’ll score you off too, that ’s wot I ’ll do!

     [He gives a little snarling laugh and lurches to the door.  His
     shoulder rubs against the switch; the light goes out.  There is
     a sound as of a closing outer door.]

The curtain falls.

The curtain rises again at once.

SCENE II

In the Barthwick’s dining-room.  Jack is still asleep; the morning light is coming through the curtains.  The time is half-past eight.  Wheeler, brisk person enters with a dust-pan, and Mrs. Jones more slowly with a scuttle.

Wheeler. [Drawing the curtains.] That precious husband of yours was round for you after you’d gone yesterday, Mrs. Jones.  Wanted your money for drink, I suppose.  He hangs about the corner here half the time.  I saw him outside the “Goat and Bells” when I went to the post last night.  If I were you I would n’t live with him.  I would n’t live with a man that raised his hand to me.  I wouldn’t put up with it.  Why don’t you take your children and leave him?  If you put up with ’im it’ll only make him worse.  I never can see why, because a man’s married you, he should knock you about.