(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 muffler 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 washin' '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 pass 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. EMMA. Aye. SAM (_desperately_). It's a damned fine day. EMMA. Aye. SAM (_after a moment_). Dost know my 'ouse, Emma? EMMA. Aye. SAM. Wert ever in it? EMMA. Not sin' tha moother died. SAM. Naw. A suppose not. Not sin' ma moother died. She were a fine woman, ma moother, for all she were bed-ridden. EMMA. She were better than 'er son, though that's not saying much neither. SAM. Naw, but tha does mind ma 'ouse, Emma, as it were when she were alive? EMMA. Aye. SAM. A 've done a bit at it sin' them days. Got a new quilt on bed from Co-op. Red un, it is, wi' blue stripes down 'er. EMMA. Aye. SAM. Well, Emma? EMMA (_over her shoulder_). Well, what? What's thy 'ouse an' thy quilt to do wi' me? SAM. Oh, nought.--Tha doesn't 'elp a feller much, neither. EMMA. (_Rises and faces him. SAM is behind corner table and backs a little before her._) What's tha gettin' at, Sam Horrocks? Tha's got a tongue in thy faice, hasn't tha? SAM. A suppose so. A doan't use it much though. EMMA. No. Tha's not much better than a tongue-tied idiot, Sam Horrocks, allays mooning about in th' engine-house in daytime an' sulkin' at 'ome neeghttime.