[She passes him his cup. There is another long pause. FRANKLIN (with a great sigh). 'Tis a silent place, Philadelphia! [Another pause. FRANKLIN. Will you have some bread, Mistress? DEBORAH (coldly). I thank you, no. FRANKLIN (bluntly). Have you ever pondered, Mistress, that pride that dines on vanity sups on contempt? [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."] DEBORAH (outraged). Master Franklin! FRANKLIN. I know right well that my poor coat offends you; yet in truth, Mistress Deborah, why should I dress in finer cloth when silks and satins put out the kitchen fire. [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."] DEBORAH. 'Tis not your coat offends me, 'tis---- FRANKLIN. 'Tis that I am neither the son of a gold-laced governor nor a wealthy merchant but only a poor journeyman printer. Then, Mistress, you have yet to learn that he who hath a trade hath an estate, and he who hath a calling hath an office of profit and honor. [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."] DEBORAH (with spirit). There you read me wrong, Master Franklin. I have supped with printers before this. FRANKLIN. Then 'twas the printer's loaf you mocked this morning, Mistress Deborah; and not the printer. Yet in truth, why should eating in the street displease you, since 'twas a matter of necessity. Ere fancy you consult, consult your purse, and my purse was not over full. But-- diligence is the mother of luck, and heaven gives all things to industry. [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."] DEBORAH (with a toss). You speak as if you and Industry were boon companions. FRANKLIN. And what better companion could I have? Heaven helps them that help themselves. DEBORAH (witheringly). 'Tis a fine thing to have high hopes, I doubt not. FRANKLIN (blithely). Oh, I have more than hopes, Mistress Deborah; for he that lives upon hope will die fasting. To apply one's self right heartily is to do more than hope. Sloth makes all things difficult; but industry all things easy. You are not eating, Mistress Deborah. (She rises.) Have my blunt ways offended you? Have I again displeased you? [Footnote: From "Poor Richard's Almanac."] DEBORAH (with chilling dignity). You could not an you tried, Master Franklin. I was but going to fetch the tea-kettle. FRANKLIN (starting up). If I can help you-- DEBORAH (still frostily). I thank you, I am in no need of help. A-ah! [With a cry she drops the kettle. FRANKLIN. You have burned yourself, Mistress Deborah! The poor little hand! (He tears up his handkerchief.) Let me bandage it for you! It is sorely blistered! DEBORAH (tears in her voice the while she submits her hand to him). I can tolerate blisters, Master Franklin. They are far less irksome than--than---- FRANKLIN (gravely bandaging her hand). Than journeymen printers who eat their bread in the street. Perhaps you are right, Mistress Deborah. I trust that the blisters will soon heal; and that the memory of the journeyman printer will not trouble you further.