Hodson.  I was no worse than you were on that sofa, sir.  One expects to rough it here, sir.

Broadbent.  We shall have to look out for some other arrangement. [Cheering up irrepressibly] Still, it’s no end of a joke.  How do you like the Irish, Hodson?

Hodson.  Well, sir, they’re all right anywhere but in their own country.  I’ve known lots of em in England, and generally liked em.  But here, sir, I seem simply to hate em.  The feeling come over me the moment we landed at Cork, sir.  It’s no use my pretendin, sir:  I can’t bear em.  My mind rises up agin their ways, somehow:  they rub me the wrong way all over.

Broadbent.  Oh, their faults are on the surface:  at heart they are one of the finest races on earth. [Hodson turns away, without affecting to respond to his enthusiasm].  By the way, Hodson—­

Hodson [turning].  Yes, sir.

Broadbent.  Did you notice anything about me last night when I came in with that lady?

Hodson [surprised].  No, sir.

Broadbent.  Not any—­er—?  You may speak frankly.

Hodson.  I didn’t notice nothing, sir.  What sort of thing ded you mean, sir?

Broadbent.  Well—­er—­er—­well, to put it plainly, was I drunk?

Hodson [amazed].  No, sir.

Broadbent.  Quite sure?

Hodson.  Well, I should a said rather the opposite, sir.  Usually when you’ve been enjoying yourself, you’re a bit hearty like.  Last night you seemed rather low, if anything.

Broadbent.  I certainly have no headache.  Did you try the pottine,
Hodson?

Hodson.  I just took a mouthful, sir.  It tasted of peat:  oh! something horrid, sir.  The people here call peat turf.  Potcheen and strong porter is what they like, sir.  I’m sure I don’t know how they can stand it.  Give me beer, I say.

Broadbent.  By the way, you told me I couldn’t have porridge for breakfast; but Mr Doyle had some.

Hodson.  Yes, sir.  Very sorry, sir.  They call it stirabout, sir:  that’s how it was.  They know no better, sir.

Broadbent.  All right:  I’ll have some tomorrow.

Hodson goes to the house.  When he opens the door he finds Nora and Aunt Judy on the threshold.  He stands aside to let them pass, with the air of a well trained servant oppressed by heavy trials.  Then he goes in.  Broadbent rises.  Aunt Judy goes to the table and collects the plates and cups on the tray.  Nora goes to the back of the rustic seat and looks out at the gate with the air of a woman accustomed to have nothing to do.  Larry returns from the shrubbery.

Broadbent.  Good morning, Miss Doyle.

Aunt Judy [thinking it absurdly late in the day for such a salutation].  Oh, good morning. [Before moving his plate] Have you done?

Broadbent.  Quite, thank you.  You must excuse us for not waiting for you.  The country air tempted us to get up early.