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His Mother.
Don't scold him. Poor dear, he'll be all right yet.
[They move away.
A Lad.
[Coming with a whole crowd of others from
the dancing-green.]
Peer, have some brandy?
Peer.
No.
The Lad.
Only a drain?
Peer.
[Looking darkly at him.]
Got any?
The Lad.
Well, I won't say but I have.
[Pulls out a pocket flask and drinks.
Ah! How it stings your throat!—Well?
Peer.
Let me try it.
[Drinks.
Another Lad.
Now you must try mine as well, you know.
Peer.
No!
The Lad.
Oh, what nonsense; now don't be a fool.
Take a pull, Peer!
