JONES. [Fingering the purse, half angrily.] Well, then, you stow it, old girl. The kids 'll get along better with you than when I 'm here. If I 'd ha' known as much as I do now, I 'd never ha' had one o' them. What's the use o' bringin' 'em into a state o' things like this? It's a crime, that's what it is; but you find it out too late; that's what's the matter with this 'ere world. [He puts the purse back in his pocket.] MRS. JONES. Of course it would have been better for them, poor little things; but they're your own children, and I wonder at you talkin' like that. I should miss them dreadfully if I was to lose them. JONES. [Sullenly.] An' you ain't the only one. If I make money out there--[Looking up, he sees her shaking out his coat--in a changed voice.] Leave that coat alone! [The silver box drops from the pocket, scattering the cigarettes upon the bed. Taking up the box she stares at it; he rushes at her and snatches the box away.] MRS. JONES. [Cowering back against the bed.] Oh, Jem! oh, Jem! JONES. [Dropping the box onto the table.] You mind what you're sayin'! When I go out I 'll take and chuck it in the water along with that there purse. I 'ad it when I was in liquor, and for what you do when you 're in liquor you're not responsible-and that's Gawd's truth as you ought to know. I don't want the thing--I won't have it. I took it out o' spite. I 'm no thief, I tell you; and don't you call me one, or it'll be the worse for you. MRS. JONES. [Twisting her apron strings.] It's Mr. Barthwick's! You've taken away my reputation. Oh, Jem, whatever made you? JONES. What d' you mean? MRS. JONES. It's been missed; they think it's me. Oh! whatever made you do it, Jem? JONES. I tell you I was in liquor. I don't want it; what's the good of it to me? If I were to pawn it they'd only nab me. I 'm no thief. I 'm no worse than wot that young Barthwick is; he brought 'ome that purse that I picked up--a lady's purse--'ad it off 'er in a row, kept sayin' 'e 'd scored 'er off. Well, I scored 'im off. Tight as an owl 'e was! And d' you think anything'll happen to him? MRS. JONES. [As though speaking to herself.] Oh, Jem! it's the bread out of our mouths! JONES. Is it then? I'll make it hot for 'em yet. What about that purse? What about young BARTHWICK? [MRS. JONES comes forward to the table and tries to take the box; JONES prevents her.] What do you want with that? You drop it, I say! MRS. JONES. I 'll take it back and tell them all about it. [She attempts to wrest the box from him.] JONES. Ah, would yer?