MRS. COTTER
Thank ye, Head.  How’s Mrs. Mulligan an’ the
childer?

HEAD
Wisha, purty fair.  How’s the world usin’ yourself?

MRS. COTTER
Only for the rheumatics I’d have no cause to grumble.

HEAD ‘Tis well to be alive at all these times.  An’ Ballyferris isn’t the best place to keep any one alive in winter time.

MRS. COTTER
Or summer time ayther.  Whin the weather is good
trade is bad.

HEAD That’s always the way in this world.  We’re no sooner, out o’ one trouble before another commences.  I always admire the way you bear your troubles, though, Mrs. Cotter.

MRS. COTTER
I does me best, Head.

HEAD Just like meself!  Just like meself!  The Government makes laws an’ I must see that they’re not broken. (Rubbing his hands together) ‘Tis a cold night, an’ no doubt about it.

MRS. COTTER
Bad weather is due to us now.

HEAD Everythin’ bad is due to some of us.  Only for that shark of an Inspector ‘tis little trouble I’d be givin’ a dacent woman like yourself a night like this.

MRS. COTTER
He’s very strict, I hear.

HEAD
He’s strict, disagreeable, a Protestant, a teetotaler,
an’ a Cromwellian to boot!

MRS. COTTER
The Lord protect us!  ’Tis a wonder you’re alive at
all!

HEAD Wisha, I’m only half alive.  The cold never agrees with me. (Looking at fire) That’s not a very dangerous fire, an’ I’m as cold as a snowball.

MRS. COTTER (with her back to the door behind which Padna and Micus are hiding) There’s a fine fire up-stairs in the sittin’-room.

HEAD (draws a chair and sits down) Thank ye, ma’am, but ‘tisn’t worth me while goin’ up-stairs.  As I said before, I wouldn’t trouble you at all only for the Inspector, an’ like Nelson, he expects every one to do their duty.

MRS. COTTER
’Tis a hard world.

HEAD
An’ a cold world too.  I often feels cold on a summer
day.

MRS. COTTER
That’s too bad!  Is there no cure for it?

HEAD
They say there’s a cure for everything.

MRS. COTTER
I wonder if ye took a drop o’ “Wise’s” ten-year-old! 
It might help to warm ye, if ye sat be the fire up-stairs.

HEAD (brightening up) Now, ’pon me word, but that’s strange!  I was just thinkin’ o’ the same thing meself.  That’s what’s called telepattery or thought transference.

MRS. COTTER
Tella—­what, Head?

HEAD (with confidence)
Telepattery, ma’am.  ’Tis like this:  I might be in
America—­

MRS. COTTER
I wish you were—­

HEAD (with a look of surprise)
What’s that, ma’am?

MRS. COTTER
I wish for your own sake that you were in a country
where you would get better paid for your work.

HEAD (satisfied)
Thank ye, ma’am.  I suppose min like meself must
wait till we go to the other world to get our reward.