Mary listens worriedly. Her fingers play nervously on the table top.

MARY

James, it’s Edmund you ought to scold for not eating enough. He hardly touched anything except coffee. He needs to eat to keep up his strength. I keep telling him that but he says he simply has no appetite. Of course, there’s nothing takes away your appetite like a bad summer cold.

TYRONE

Yes, it’s only natural. So don’t let yourself get worried—

MARY

Quickly.

Oh, I’m not. I know he’ll be all right in a few days if he takes care of himself.

As if she wanted to dismiss the subject but can’t.

But it does seem a shame he should have to be sick right now.

TYRONE

Yes, it is bad luck.

He gives her a quick, worried look.

But you musn’t let it upset you, Mary. Remember, you’ve got to take care of yourself, too.

MARY

Quickly.

I’m not upset. There’s nothing to be upset about. What makes you think I’m upset?

TYRONE

Why, nothing, except you’ve seemed a bit high-strung the past few days.

MARY

Forcing a smile.

I have? Nonsense, dear. It’s your imagination.

With sudden tenseness.

You really must not watch me all the time, James. I mean, it makes me self-conscious.

TYRONE

Putting a hand over one of her nervously playing ones.

Now, now, Mary. That’s your imagination. If I’ve watched you it was to admire how fat and beautiful you looked.

His voice is suddenly moved by deep feeling.

I can’t tell you the deep happiness it gives me, darling, to see you as you’ve been since you came back to us, your dear old self again.

He leans over and kisses her cheek impulsively—then turning back adds with a constrained air.

So keep up the good work, Mary.

MARY

Has turned her head away.

I will, dear.

She gets up restlessly and goes to the windows at right.

Thank heavens, the fog is gone.

She turns back.

I do feel out of sorts this morning. I wasn’t able to get much sleep with that awful foghorn going all night long.

TYRONE

Yes, it’s like having a sick whale in the back yard. It kept me awake, too.

MARY

Affectionately amused.

Did it? You had a strange way of showing your restlessness. You were snoring so hard I couldn’t tell which was the foghorn!

She comes to him, laughing, and pats his cheek playfully.

Ten foghorns couldn’t disturb you. You haven’t a nerve in you. You’ve never had.

TYRONE

His vanity piqued—testily.

Nonsense. You always exaggerate about my snoring.

MARY

I couldn’t. If you could only hear yourself once—

A burst of laughter comes from the dining room. She turns her head, smiling.

What’s the joke, I wonder?

TYRONE

Grumpily.

It’s on me. I’ll bet that much. It’s always on the Old Man.

MARY

Teasingly.

Yes, it’s terrible the way we all pick on you, isn’t it? You’re so abused!

She laughs—then with a pleased, relieved air.

Well, no matter what the joke is about, it’s a relief to hear Edmund laugh. He’s been so down in the mouth lately.

TYRONE

Ignoring this—resentfully.

Some joke of Jamie’s, I’ll wager. He’s forever making sneering fun of somebody, that one.

MARY

Now don’t start in on poor Jamie, dear.

Without conviction.

He’ll turn out all right in the end, you wait and see.

TYRONE

He’d better start soon, then. He’s nearly thirty-four.

MARY

Ignoring this.

Good heavens, are they going to stay in the dining room all day?

She goes to the back parlor doorway and calls.

Jamie! Edmund! Come in the living room and give Cathleen a chance to clear the table.

Edmund calls back, “We’re coming, Mama.” She goes back to the table.

TYRONE

Grumbling.

You’d find excuses for him no matter what he did.

MARY

Sitting down beside him, pats his hand.

Shush.

Their sons JAMES, JR., and EDMUND enter together from the back parlor. They are both grinning, still chuckling over what had caused their laughter, and as they come forward they glance at their father and their grins grow broader.

Jamie, the elder, is thirty-three. He has his father’s broad-shouldered, deep-chested physique, is an inch taller and weighs less, but appears shorter and stouter because he lacks Tyrone’s bearing and graceful carriage.