_The kitchen of the Carmody home on the outskirts of a manufacturing
town in Connecticut. On the left, forward, the sink. Farther back,
two windows looking out on the yard. In the left corner, rear, the
icebox. Immediately to the right of it, in the rear wall, a window
opening on the side porch. To the right of this, a china cupboard,
and a door leading into the hall where the main front entrance to
the house and the stairs to the floor above are situated. On the
right, to the rear, a door opening on to the dining room. Further
forward, the kitchen range with scuttle, wood box, etc. In the
centre of the room, a table with a red and white cloth. Four
cane-bottomed chairs are pushed under the table. In front of the
stove, two battered wicker rocking chairs. The floor is partly
covered by linoleum strips. The walls are papered a light cheerful
colour. Several old framed picture-supplement prints hang from
nails. Everything has a clean, neatly-kept appearance. The supper
dishes are piled in the sink ready for washing. A saucepan of water
simmers on the stove._
_It is about eight o'clock in the evening of a bitter cold day in
late February of the year 1912._
_As the curtain rises,_ Bill Carmody _is discovered fitting in a
rocker by the stove, reading a newspaper and smoking a blackened
clay pipe. He is a man of fifty, heavy-set and round-shouldered,
with long muscular arms and swollen-veined, hairy hands. His face
is bony and ponderous; his nose short and squat; his mouth large,
thick-lipped and harsh; his complexion mottled--red, purple-streaked,
and freckled; his hair, short and stubby with a bald spot on the
crown. The expression of his small, blue eyes is one of selfish
cunning. His voice is loud and hoarse. He wears a flannel shirt,
open at the neck, criss-crossed by red braces; black, baggy
trousers grey with dust; muddy brogues._
_His youngest daughter,_ Mary, _is sitting on a chair by the table,
front, turning over the pages of a picture book. She is a delicate,
dark-haired, blue-eyed, quiet little girl about eight years old._
CARMODY (_after watching the child's preoccupation for a moment, in a
tone of half exasperated amusement_). Well, but you're the quiet one,
surely! (_Mary looks up at him with a shy smile, her eyes still full of
dreams._) Glory be to God, I'd not know a soul was alive in the room,
barrin' myself. What is it you're at, Mary, that there's not a word out
of you?
MARY. I'm looking at the pictures.
CARMODY. It's the dead spit and image of your sister Eileen you are,
with your nose always in a book; and you're like your mother, too, God
rest her soul. (_He crosses himself with pious unction and_ Mary _also
does so._) It's Nora and Tom has the high spirits in them like their
father; and Billy, too,--if he is a lazy, shiftless divil--has the
fightin' Carmody blood like me. You're a Cullen like your mother's
people. They always was dreamin' their lives out. (_He lights his pipe
and shakes his head with ponderous gravity._) There's no good in too
many books, I'll tell you. It's out rompin' and playin' with your
brother and sister you ought to be at your age, not carin' a fig for
books. (_With a glance at the clock._) Is that auld fool of a doctor
stayin' the night? If he had his wits about him he'd know in a jiffy
'tis only a cold has taken Eileen, and give her the medicine. Run out
in the hall, Mary, and see if you hear him. He may have sneaked away by
the front door.
MARY (_goes out into the hall, rear, and comes back_). He's upstairs. I
heard him talking to Eileen.
CARMODY. Close the door, ye little divil! There's a freezin' draught
comin' in. (_She does so and comes back to her chair._ Carmody
_continues with a sneer._) It's mad I am to be thinkin' he'd go without
gettin' his money--the like of a doctor! (_Angrily._) Rogues and
thieves they are, the lot of them, robbin' the poor like us! I've no
use for their drugs at all. They only keep you sick to pay more visits.
I'd not have sent for this bucko if Eileen didn't scare me by faintin'.
MARY (_anxiously_). Is Eileen very sick, Papa?
CARMODY (_spitting--roughly_). If she is, it's her own fault
entirely--weakenin' her health by readin' here in the house. This'll be
a lesson for her, and for you, too. (_Irritably._) Put down that book
on the table and leave it be. I'll have no more readin' in this house,
or I'll take the strap to you!
MARY (_laying the book on the table_). It's only pictures.
CARMODY. No back talk! Pictures or not, it's all the same mopin' and
lazin' in it. (_After a pause--morosely._) It's the bad luck I've been
havin' altogether this last year since your mother died. Who's to do
the work and look after Nora and Tom and yourself, if Eileen is bad
took and has to stay in her bed? I'll have to get Mrs. Brennan come
look after the house. That means money, too, and where's it to come
from? All that I've saved from slavin' and sweatin' in the sun with a
gang of lazy Dagoes'll be up the spout in no time. (_Bitterly._) What a
fool a man is to be raisin' a raft of children and him not a
millionaire! (_With lugubrious self-pity._) Mary, dear, it's a black
curse God put on me when he took your mother just when I needed her
most. (Mary _commences to sob._ Carmody _starts and looks at her
angrily._) What are you sniffin' at?
MARY (_tearfully_). I was thinking--of Mamma.
CARMODY (_scornfully_). It's late you are with your tears, and her cold
in her grave for a year. Stop it, I'm tellin' you! (Mary _gulps back
her sobs._)
(_There is a noise of childish laughter and screams from the
street in front. The outside door is opened and slammed,
footsteps pound along the hall. The door in the rear is pushed
open, and_ Nora _and_ Tom _rush in breathlessly._ Nora _is a
bright, vivacious, red-haired girl of eleven--pretty after an
elfish, mischievous fashion--light-hearted and robust._)
(Tom _resembles_ Nora _in disposition and appearance. A healthy,
good-humoured youngster with a shock of sandy hair. He is a year
younger than_ Nora. _They are followed into the room, a moment
later, by their brother_ Billy, _who is evidently loftily
disgusted with their antics._ Billy _is a fourteen-year-old
replica of his father, whom he imitates even to the hoarse,
domineering tone of voice._)
CARMODY (_grumpily_). Ah, here you are, the lot of you. Shut that door
after you! What's the use in me spendin' money for coal if all you do
is to let the cold night in the room itself?
NORA (_hopping over to him--teasingly_). Me and Tom had a race, Papa. I
beat him. (_She sticks her tongue out at her younger brother._) Slow
poke!
TOM. You didn't beat me, neither!
NORA. I did, too!
TOM. You did not! You didn't play fair. You tripped me comin' up the
steps. Brick-top! Cheater!
NORA (_flaring up_). You're a liar! You stumbled over your own big
feet, clumsy bones! And I beat you fair Didn't I, Papa?
CARMODY (_with a grin_). You did, darlin', and fair, too. (Tom _slinks
back to the chair in the rear of table, sulking._ Carmody _pats_ Nora's
_red hair with delighted pride._) Sure it's you can beat the divil
himself!
NORA (_sticks out her tongue again at_ Tom). See? Liar! (_She goes and
perches on the table near_ Mary, _who is staring sadly in front of
her._)
CARMODY (_to_ Billy--_irritably_). Did you get the plug for me I told
you?
BILLY. Sure. (_He takes a plug of tobacco from his pocket and hands it
to his father._ Nora _slides down off her perch and disappears,
unnoticed, under the table._)
CARMODY. It's a great wonder you didn't forget it--and me without a
chew. (_He bites off a piece and tucks it into his cheek._)
TOM (_suddenly clutching at his leg with a yell_). Ouch! Darn you! (_He
kicks frantically at something under the table, but_ Nora _scrambles
out at the other end, grinning._)
CARMODY (_angrily_). Shut your big mouth! What is the matter with you
at all?
TOM (_indignantly_). She pinched me--hard as she could, too--and look
at her laughin'!
NORA (_hopping on the table again_). Cry-baby! I owed you one.
TOM. I'll fix you. I'll tell Eileen, wait 'n' see!
NORA. Tattle-tale! I don't care. Eileen's sick.
TOM. That's why you dast do it. You dasn't if she was up. I'll get
even, you bet!
CARMODY (_exasperated_). Shut up your noise! Go up to bed, the two of
you, and no more talk, and you go with them, Mary.
NORA (_giving a quick tug at_ Mary's _hair_). Come on, Mary. Wake up.