The Atlantic Book of Modern Plays Part 50

SARAH. No, Emma, no--maybe that's as broad as's long. (_Sits above fire._) Yo' never knaw 'ow they go. Soom on 'em turn again yo'

when they're growed, or they get wed themselves an' forget all as yo' 've done for 'em, like a many A could name, and they're allays a worrit to yo' when they're young.

EMMA. A'm gettin' wed masel' soon, Mrs. Ormerod.

SARAH. Are yo', now, Emma? Well, tha art not one o' them graceless good-for-nowts. Tha'll never forget thy moother, A knaw, nor what she's done for thee. Who's tha keepin' coompany with?

EMMA. It's Joe Hindle as goes wi' me, Mrs. Ormerod.

SARAH. 'Indle, 'Indle? What, not son to Robert 'Indle, 'im as used to be overlooker in th' factory till 'e went to foreign parts to learn them Roossians 'ow to weave?

EMMA. Aye, that's 'im.

SARAH. Well, A dunno aught about th' lad. 'Is faither were a fine man. A minds 'im well. But A'll tell thee this, Emma, an' A'll tell it thee to thy faice, 'e's doin' well for 'isself, is young Joe 'Indle.

EMMA. Thankee, Mrs. Ormerod.

SARAH. Gettin' wed! Think o' that. Why, it seems as 't were only t'other day as tha was runnin' about in short frocks, an' now tha's growed up and gettin' thasel' wed! Time do run on. Sithee, Emma, tha's a good la.s.s, A've gotten an ould teapot in yonder (_indicating her bedroom_) as my moother give me when A was wed. A weren't for packing it in box because o' risk o' breaking it. A were going to carry it in my 'and. A'd a mind to keep it till A died, but A reckon A'll 'ave no use for it in workus.

EMMA. Tha's not gone theer yet.

SARAH. Never mind that. (_Slowly rises._) A'm going to give it thee, la.s.s, for a weddin' gift. Tha'll tak' care of it, A knaw, and when thy eye catches it, 'appen tha'll spare me a thowt.

EMMA. Oh, no, Mrs. Ormerod, A couldn't think o' takkin' it.

SARAH. Art too proud to tak' a gift from me?

EMMA. No. Tha knaws A'm not.

SARAH. Then hold thy hush. A'll be back in a minute. Happen A'd best tidy masel' up too against Parson cooms.

EMMA. Can A help thee, Mrs. Ormerod?

SARAH. No, la.s.s, no. A can do a bit for masel'. My 'ands isn't that bad; A canna weave wi' 'em, but A can do all as A need do.

EMMA. Well, A'll do box up.

(_Crosses to table right and gets cord._)

SARAH. Aye.

EMMA. All reeght.

(_Exit_ SARAH. _A man's face appears outside at the window. He surveys the room, and then the face vanishes as he knocks at the door._)

Who's theer?

SAM (_without_). It's me, Sam Horrocks. (_EMMA crosses left and opens door._) May A coom in?

EMMA. What dost want?

SAM (_on the doorstep_). A want a word wi' thee, Emma Brierley. A followed thee oop from factory and A've bin waitin' out theer till A'm tired o' waitin'.

EMMA. Well, tha'd better coom in. A 'aven't time to talk wi' thee at door.

(EMMA _lets him in, closes door, and, leaving him standing in the middle of the room, resumes work on her knees at the box._ SAM HORROCKS _is a hulking young man of a rather vacant expression. He is dressed in mechanic's blue dungarees. His face is oily and his clothes stained. He wears boots, not clogs. He mechanically takes a ball of oily black cotton-waste from his right pocket when in conversational difficulties and wipes his hands upon it. He has a red m.u.f.fler round his neck without collar, and his shock affair hair is surmounted by a greasy black cap, which covers perhaps one tenth of it._)

SAM (_after watching_ EMMA's _back for a moment_). Wheer's Mrs.

Ormerod?

EMMA (_without looking up_). What's that to do wi' thee?

SAM (_apologetically_). A were only askin'. Tha needn't be short wi' a chap.

EMMA. She's in scullery was.h.i.+n' 'er, if tha wants to knaw.

SAM. Oh!

EMMA (_looking at him over her shoulder after a slight pause_).

Doan't tha tak' thy cap off in 'ouse, Sam Horrocks?

SAM. Naw.

EMMA. Well, tha can tak' it off in this 'ouse or get t' t'other side o' door.

SAM. (_Takes off his cap and stuffs it in his left pocket after trying his right and finding the ball of waste in it._) Yes, Emma.

(EMMA _resumes work with her back towards him and waits for him to speak. But he is not ready yet._)

EMMA. Well, what dost want?

SAM. Nought.--Eh, but tha art a gradely wench.

EMMA. What's that to do wi' thee?

SAM. Nought.

EMMA. Then just tha mind thy own business, an' doan't pa.s.s compliments behind folks' backs.

SAM. A didn't mean no 'arm.

EMMA. Well?

SAM. It's a fine day, isn't it? For th' time o' th' year?

EMMA. Aye.

SAM. A very fine day.