It saves you hiring a man.

TYRONE

Bah! You have to be driven to do even that much!

His anger ebbs into a weary complaint.

I wouldn’t give a damn if you ever displayed the slightest sign of gratitude. The only thanks is to have you sneer at me for a dirty miser, sneer at my profession, sneer at every damned thing in the world—except yourself.

JAMIE

Wryly.

That’s not true, Papa. You can’t hear me talking to myself, that’s all.

TYRONE

Stares at him puzzledly, then quotes mechanically.

“Ingratitude, the vilest weed that grows”!

JAMIE

I could see that line coming! God, how many thousand times—!

He stops, bored with their quarrel, and shrugs his shoulders.

All right, Papa. I’m a bum. Anything you like, so long as it stops the argument.

TYRONE

With indignant appeal now.

If you’d get ambition in your head instead of folly! You’re young yet. You could still make your mark. You had the talent to become a fine actor! You have it still. You’re my son—!

JAMIE

Boredly.

Let’s forget me. I’m not interested in the subject. Neither are you.

Tyrone gives up. Jamie goes on casually.

What started us on this? Oh, Doc Hardy. When is he going to call you up about Edmund?

TYRONE

Around lunch time.

He pauses—then defensively.

I couldn’t have sent Edmund to a better doctor. Hardy’s treated him whenever he was sick up here, since he was knee high. He knows his constitution as no other doctor could. It’s not a question of my being miserly, as you’d like to make out.

Bitterly.

And what could the finest specialist in America do for Edmund, after he’s deliberately ruined his health by the mad life he’s led ever since he was fired from college? Even before that when he was in prep school, he began dissipating and playing the Broadway sport to imitate you, when he’s never had your constitution to stand it. You’re a healthy hulk like me—or you were at his age—but he’s always been a bundle of nerves like his mother. I’ve warned him for years his body couldn’t stand it, but he wouldn’t heed me, and now it’s too late.

JAMIE

Sharply.

What do you mean, too late? You talk as if you thought—

TYRONE

Guiltily explosive.

Don’t be a damned fool! I meant nothing but what’s plain to anyone! His health has broken down and he may be an invalid for a long time.

JAMIE

Stares at his father, ignoring his explanation.

I know it’s an Irish peasant idea consumption is fatal. It probably is when you live in a hovel on a bog, but over here, with modern treatment—

TYRONE

Don’t I know that! What are you gabbing about, anyway? And keep your dirty tongue off Ireland, with your sneers about peasants and bogs and hovels!

Accusingly.

The less you say about Edmund’s sickness, the better for your conscience! You’re more responsible than anyone!

JAMIE

Stung.

That’s a lie! I won’t stand for that, Papa!

TYRONE

It’s the truth! You’ve been the worst influence for him. He grew up admiring you as a hero! A fine example you set him! If you ever gave him advice except in the ways of rottenness, I’ve never heard of it! You made him old before his time, pumping him full of what you consider worldly wisdom, when he was too young to see that your mind was so poisoned by your own failure in life, you wanted to believe every man was a knave with his soul for sale, and every woman who wasn’t a whore was a fool!

JAMIE

With a defensive air of weary indifference again.

All right. I did put Edmund wise to things, but not until I saw he’d started to raise hell, and knew he’d laugh at me if I tried the good advice, older brother stuff. All I did was make a pal of him and be absolutely frank so he’d learn from my mistakes that—

He shrugs his shoulders—cynically.

Well, that if you can’t be good you can at least be careful.

His father snorts contemptuously. Suddenly Jamie becomes really moved.

That’s a rotten accusation, Papa. You know how much the Kid means to me, and how close we’ve always been—not like the usual brothers! I’d do anything for him.

TYRONE

Impressed— mollifyingly.

I know you may have thought it was for the best, Jamie. I didn’t say you did it deliberately to harm him.

JAMIE

Besides it’s damned rot! I’d like to see anyone influence Edmund more than he wants to be. His quietness fools people into thinking they can do what they like with him. But he’s stubborn as hell inside and what he does is what he wants to do, and to hell with anyone else! What had I to do with all the crazy stunts he’s pulled in the last few years—working his way all over the map as a sailor and all that stuff. I thought that was a damned fool idea, and I told him so. You can’t imagine me getting fun out of being on the beach in South America, or living in filthy dives, drinking rotgut, can you? No, thanks! I’ll stick to Broadway, and a room with a bath, and bars that serve bonded Bourbon.

TYRONE

You and Broadway! It’s made you what you are!

With a touch of pride.

Whatever Edmund’s done, he’s had the guts to go off on his own, where he couldn’t come whining to me the minute he was broke.

JAMIE

Stung into sneering jealousy.

He’s always come home broke finally, hasn’t he? And what did his going away get him? Look at him now!

He is suddenly shamefaced.

Christ! That’s a lousy thing to say. I don’t mean that.

TYRONE

Decides to ignore this.

He’s been doing well on the paper. I was hoping he’d found the work he wants to do at last.

JAMIE

Sneering jealously again.

A hick town rag! Whatever bull they hand you, they tell me he’s a pretty bum reporter.