Well, Maggie.
MAGGIE (_uninvitingly_). Well, father.
HOBSON (_without confidence_). I'll come in.
MAGGIE (_standing in his way_). Well, I don't know. I'll
have to ask the master about that.
HOBSON. Eh? The master?
MAGGIE. You and him didn't part on the best of terms, you
know. (_Over the railings_.) Will, it's my father. Is he to
come in?
WILLIE (_loudly and boldly_). Aye, let him come.
(HOBSON _comes downstairs_. MAGGIE _closes door behind him
and follows_. HOBSON _stares round at the cellar_.)
HOBSON. You don't sound cordial about your invitation, young man.
WILLIE (_rises and goes_ C.). Nay, but I am. (_Shaking
hands for a long time_.) I'm right down glad to see you, Mr.
Hobson. (MAGGIE _comes down_ R.) It makes the wedding-day
complete-like, you being her father and I--I hope you'll see your
way to staying a good long while.
HOBSON. Well--
MAGGIE. That's enough, Will. You don't need to overdo it. You can
sit down for five minutes, father. That sofa 'ull bear your
weight. It's been tested.
(HOBSON _sits on sofa_, R. C. WILLIE _goes back to the
chair_, R.)
WILLIE (_taking up teapot_). There's nobbut tea to drink and
I reckon what's in the pot is stewed, so I'll--
MAGGIE (_taking pot off him as he moves to fire-place with
it_).
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