Walter (_seeing him, but too late to stop him_). Oh, don't do that--here, try a pipe of mine. (_Delving in his coat tails for pouch and offering it._) Jim (_shyly_). Well, sir---- Walter. Go on, man. (_Jim accepts and fills his pouch; Sally dusts a chair with the corner of the table cloth._) Now you know that chair didn't need dusting, Mrs. Pilling. (_He sits._) Well, how's the garden, Mr. Pilling? Jim. Oh, nicely, sir, nicely. Walter. Yes. So I thought when I had a look at it over the hedge. (_Turning to Sally._) I live next door to Mr. Vining, you know, Mrs. Pilling. Sally. Oh, but he can't get the garden to suit him, sir. (_Sits R. of table._) Walter. Oh! How's that? Jim. Thanks. (_Returning pouch. Walter fills a pipe and lights up._) This air's ruination to a garden, sir. Walter. You put up a jolly good fight against it, then. My father's garden looks pretty mean compared with yours. Jim (_shyly_). Well, sir, you see, your father will try and look after his himself. Walter. Yes. He's awfully attached to his garden. Jim (_with a touch of patronage_). And he doesn't do it badly--for an amateur, as you might say, but--well, he makes mistakes. Sally (_protestingly_). Jim! Walter. Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pilling. Dick keeping well? Sally (_formally_). Oh, yes, thank you, sir. Walter. I saw him outside as I came in. I fancied the little chap looked pale. Jim (_gravely_). He does look pale. Walter. Anything the matter? Jim. No, sir, no... only this. Walter (_vaguely_). This? Jim. This room--living in one room and nothing but streets to run about in. Sally. You can't keep a child inside, sir. 'Tisn't natural. The streets if it's fine and the stairs when it's wet out. Walter. None too safe, Mrs. Pilling, either of 'em. Sally. But what are you to do? Walter (_hopelessly_). Nothing, I suppose. Jim. Folks can't thrive cramped up the way we are. If garden stuff won't go in the air, it can't be good for humans. (_A knock at the door. Without waiting for Sally, who starts towards door, Stephen Verity enters. He is fifty, iron grey, with a good deal of iron in his composition, though just now concerned more with the velvet glove than the mailed fist. A selfmade man, he is cynical, domineering, dryly humorous at times, an ugly customer if crossed, with a strong jaw and tightly closed lips. Dressed in morning coat and grey trousers with very square toed boots, turned down collar, black tie. His coat is good solid broadcloth, but the cut is palpably local._) Stephen (_off_). Are ye in, Pilling? (_He enters and sees Walter. Sally and Walter rise--grimacing at Walter._) Oh! (_He stops short in doorway._) Jim (_with deference nicely regulated some degrees lower than that he showed Walter_). Come in, Mr. Verity. Walter (_holding out hand_). How do you do, Mr. Verity? Ste. (_shaking hands and speaking with laboured politeness_). How do you do, Mr. Montgomery? (_Dropping his hand--sneeringly._)