I hope you told him I’d be mad as hell—

EDMUND

I told him you’d be tickled to death over the great Irish victory, and so you are. Stop faking, Papa.

TYRONE

Well, I’m not tickled to death.

MARY

Teasingly.

You are, too, James. You’re simply delighted!

TYRONE

No, Mary, a joke is a joke, but—

EDMUND

I told Shaughnessy he should have reminded Harker that a Standard Oil millionaire ought to welcome the flavor of hog in his ice water as an appropriate touch.

TYRONE

The devil you did!

Frowning.

Keep your damned Socialist anarchist sentiments out of my affairs!

EDMUND

Shaughnessy almost wept because he hadn’t thought of that one, but he said he’d include it in a letter he’s writing to Harker, along with a few other insults he’d overlooked.

He and Jamie laugh.

TYRONE

What are you laughing at? There’s nothing funny—A fine son you are to help that blackguard get me into a lawsuit!

MARY

Now, James, don’t lose your temper.

TYRONE

Turns on Jamie.

And you’re worse than he is, encouraging him. I suppose you’re regretting you weren’t there to prompt Shaughnessy with a few nastier insults. You’ve a fine talent for that, if for nothing else.

MARY

James! There’s no reason to scold Jamie.

Jamie is about to make some sneering remark to his father, but he shrugs his shoulders.

EDMUND

With sudden nervous exasperation.

Oh, for God’s sake, Papa! If you’re starting that stuff again, I’ll beat it.

He jumps up.

I left my book upstairs, anyway.

He goes to the front parlor, saying disgustedly,

God, Papa, I should think you’d get sick of hearing yourself—

He disappears. Tyrone looks after him angrily.

MARY

You mustn’t mind Edmund, James. Remember he isn’t well.

Edmund can be heard coughing as he goes upstairs. She adds nervously.

A summer cold makes anyone irritable.

JAMIE

Genuinely concerned.

It’s not just a cold he’s got. The Kid is damned sick.

His father gives him a sharp warning look but he doesn’t see it.

MARY

Turns on him resentfully.

Why do you say that? It is just a cold! Anyone can tell that! You always imagine things!

TYRONE

With another warning glance at Jamie—easily.

All Jamie meant was Edmund might have a touch of something else, too, which makes his cold worse.

JAMIE

Sure, Mama. That’s all I meant.

TYRONE

Doctor Hardy thinks it might be a bit of malarial fever he caught when he was in the tropics. If it is, quinine will soon cure it.

MARY

A look of contemptuous hostility flashes across her face.

Doctor Hardy! I wouldn’t believe a thing he said, if he swore on a stack of Bibles! I know what doctors are. They’re all alike. Anything, they don’t care what, to keep you coming to them.

She stops short, overcome by a fit of acute self-consciousness as she catches their eyes fixed on her. Her hands jerk nervously to her hair. She forces a smile.

What is it? What are you looking at? Is my hair—?

TYRONE

Puts his arm around her— with guilty heartiness, giving her a playful hug.

There’s nothing wrong with your hair. The healthier and fatter you get, the vainer you become. You’ll soon spend half the day primping before the mirror.

MARY

Half reassured.

I really should have new glasses. My eyes are so bad now.

TYRONE

With Irish blarney.

Your eyes are beautiful, and well you know it.

He gives her a kiss. Her face lights up with a charming, shy embarrassment. Suddenly and startlingly one sees in her face the girl she had once been, not a ghost of the dead, but still a living part of her.

MARY

You musn’t be so silly, James. Right in front of Jamie!

TYRONE

Oh, he’s on to you, too. He knows this fuss about eyes and hair is only fishing for compliments. Eh, Jamie?

JAMIE

His face has cleared, too, and there is an old boyish charm in his loving smile at his mother.

Yes. You can’t kid us, Mama.

MARY

Laughs and an Irish lilt comes into her voice.

Go along with both of you!

Then she speaks with a girlish gravity.

But I did truly have beautiful hair once, didn’t I, James?

TYRONE

The most beautiful in the world!

MARY

It was a rare shade of reddish brown and so long it came down below my knees. You ought to remember it, too, Jamie. It wasn’t until after Edmund was born that I had a single grey hair. Then it began to turn white.

The girlishness fades from her face.

TYRONE

Quickly.

And that made it prettier than ever.

MARY

Again embarrassed and pleased.

Will you listen to your father, Jamie—after thirty-five years of marriage! He isn’t a great actor for nothing, is he? What’s come over you, James? Are you pouring coals of fire on my head for teasing you about snoring? Well then, I take it all back. It must have been only the foghorn I heard.

She laughs, and they laugh with her. Then she changes to a brisk businesslike air.

But I can’t stay with you any longer, even to hear compliments. I must see the cook about dinner and the day’s marketing.

She gets up and sighs with humorous exaggeration.

Bridget is so lazy.