Chapter II: Part 2

CARMODY (_noticing him--with malicious satisfaction_). Oho, here you are again. (Nicholls _scowls and turns away._ Carmody _addresses his daughter with a sly wink at_ Murray.) I thought Fred was slidin' down hill to the train with his head bare to the frost, and him so desperate hurried to get away from here. Look at the knees on him clappin' together with the cold, and with the great fear that's in him he'll be catchin' a sickness in this place! (Nicholls, _his guilty conscience stabbed to the quick, turns pale with impotent rage._)

EILEEN (_remonstrating pitifully_). Father! Please! (_She hurries over to_ Nicholls.) Oh, please don't mind him, Fred. You know what he is when he's drinking. He doesn't mean a word he's saying.

NICHOLLS (_thickly_). That's all right--for you to say. But I won't forget--I'm sick and tired standing for--I'm not used to--such people.

EILEEN (_shrinking from him_). Fred!

NICHOLLS (_with a furious glance at_ Murray). Before that cheap slob, too--letting him know everything!

EILEEN (_faintly_). He seems--very nice.

NICHOLLS. You've got your eyes set on him already, have you? Leave it to you! No fear of your not having a good time of it out here!

EILEEN. Fred!

NICHOLLS. Well, go ahead if you want to. I don't care. I'll---- (_Startled by the look of anguish which comes over her face, he hastily swallows his words. He takes out his watch--fiercely._) We'll miss that train, damn it!

EILEEN (_in a stricken tone_). Oh, Fred! (_Then forcing back her tears she calls to_ Carmody _in a strained voice._) Father! You'll have to go now. Miss Gilpin told me to tell you you'd have to go right away to catch the train.

CARMODY (_shaking hands with_ Murray). I'll be goin'. Keep your eye on her. I'll be out soon to see her and you and me'll have another talk.

MURRAY. Glad to. Good-bye for the present. (_He walks to windows on the far right, turning his back considerately on their leave-taking._)

EILEEN (_comes to_ Carmody _and hangs on his arm as they proceed to the door_). Be sure and kiss them all for me--Billy and Tom and Nora and little Mary--and bring them out to see me as soon as you can, father, please! And you come often, too, won't you? And don't forget to tell Mrs. Brennan all the directions I gave you coming out on the train. I told her, but she mightn't remember--about Mary's bath--and to give Tom his----

CARMODY (_impatiently_). Hasn't she brought up brats of her own, and doesn't she know the way of it? Don't be worryin' now, like a fool.

EILEEN (_helplessly_). Never mind telling her, then. I'll write to her.

CARMODY. You'd better not. Leave her alone. She'll not wish you mixin' in with her work and tellin' her how to do it.

EILEEN (_aghast_). Her work! (_She seems at the end of her tether--wrung too dry for any further emotion. She kisses her father at the door with indifference and speaks calmly._) Good-bye, father.

CARMODY (_in a whining tone of injury_). A cold kiss! And never a small tear out of her! Is your heart a stone? (_Drunken tears well from his eyes and he blubbers._) And your own father going back to a lone house with a stranger in it!

EILEEN (_wearily, in a dead voice_). You'll miss your train, father.

CARMODY (_raging in a second_). I'm off, then! Come on, Fred. It's no welcome we have with her here in this place--and a great curse on this day I brought her to it! (_He stamps out._)

EILEEN (_in the same dead tone_). Good-bye, Fred.

NICHOLLS (_repenting his words of a moment ago--confusedly_). I'm sorry, Eileen--for what I said. I didn't mean--you know what your father is--excuse me, won't you?

EILEEN (_without feeling_). Yes.

NICHOLLS. And I'll be out soon--in a week if I can make it. Well then,--good-bye for the present. (_He bends down as if to kiss her, but she shrinks back out of his reach._)

EILEEN (_a faint trace of mockery in her weary voice_). No, Fred. Remember you mustn't now.

NICHOLLS (_in an instant huff_). Oh, if that's the way you feel about----

(_He strides out and slams the door viciously behind him._ Eileen
_walks slowly back towards the fire-place, her face fixed in a
dead calm of despair. As she sinks into one of the armchairs, the
strain becomes too much. She breaks down, hiding her face in her
hands, her frail shoulders heaving with the violence of her sobs.
At this sound,_ Murray _turns from the windows and comes over
near her chair._)

MURRAY (_after watching her for a moment--in an embarrassed tone of sympathy_). Come on, Miss Carmody, that'll never do. I know it's hard at first--but--getting yourself all worked up is bad for you. You'll run a temperature and then they'll keep you in bed--which isn't pleasant. Take hold of yourself! It isn't so bad up here--really--once you get used to it! (_The shame she feels at giving way in the presence of a stranger only adds to her loss of control and she sobs heartbrokenly._ Murray _walks up and down nervously, visibly nonplussed and upset. Finally he hits upon something._) One of the nurses will be in any minute. You don't want them to see you like this.

EILEEN (_chokes back her sobs and finally raises her face and attempts a smile_). I'm sorry--to make such a sight of myself. I just couldn't help it.

MURRAY (_jocularly_). Well, they say a good cry does you a lot of good.

EILEEN (_forcing a smile_). I do feel--better.

MURRAY (_staring at her with a quizzical smile--cynically_). You shouldn't take those lovers' squabbles so seriously. To-morrow he'll be sorry--you'll be sorry. He'll write begging forgiveness--you'll do ditto. Result--all serene again.

EILEEN (_a shadow of pain on her face--with dignity_). Don't--please.

MURRAY (_angry at himself--hanging his head contritely_). I'm a fool. Pardon me. I'm rude sometimes--before I know it. (_He shakes off his confusion with a renewed attempt at a joking tone._) You can blame your father for any breaks I make. He made me your guardian, you know--told me to see that you behaved.

EILEEN (_with a genuine smile_). Oh, father! (_Flushing._) You mustn't mind anything he said to-night.

MURRAY (_thoughtlessly_). Yes, he was well lit up. I envied him. (Eileen _looks very shame-faced._ Murray _sees it and exclaims in exasperation at himself._) Darn! There I go again putting my foot in it! (_With an irrepressible grin._) I ought to have my tongue operated on--that's what's the matter with me. (_He laughs and throws himself in a chair._)

EILEEN (_forced in spite of herself to smile with him_). You're candid, at any rate, Mr. Murray.

MURRAY. Don't misunderstand me. Far be it from me to cast slurs at your father's high spirits. I said I envied him his jag and that's the truth. The same candour compels me to confess that I was pickled to the gills myself when I arrived here. Fact! I made love to all the nurses and generally disgraced myself--and had a wonderful time.

EILEEN. I suppose it does make you forget your troubles--for a while.

MURRAY (_waving this aside_). I didn't want to forget--not for a second. I wasn't drowning my sorrow. I was hilariously celebrating.

EILEEN (_astonished--by this time quite interested in this queer fellow to the momentary forgetfulness of her own grief_). Celebrating--coming here? But--aren't you sick?

MURRAY. T.B.? Yes, of course. (_Confidentially._) But it's only a matter of time when I'll be all right again. I hope it won't be too soon. I was dying for a rest--a good, long rest with time to think about things. I'm due to get what I wanted here. That's why I celebrated.

EILEEN (_with wide eyes_). I wonder if you really mean----

MURRAY. What I've been sayin'? I sure do--every word of it!

EILEEN (_puzzled_). I can't understand how anyone could---- (_With a worried glance over her shoulder._) I think I'd better look for Miss Gilpin, hadn't I? She may wonder---- (_She half rises from her chair._)

MURRAY (_quickly_). No. Please don't go yet. Sit down. Please do. (_She glances at him irresolutely, then resumes her chair._) They'll give you your diet of milk and shoo you off to bed on that freezing porch soon enough, don't worry. I'll see to it that you don't fracture any rules. (_Hitching his chair nearer hers--impulsively._) In all charity to me you've got to stick awhile. I haven't had a chance to really talk to a soul for a week. You found what I said a while ago hard to believe, didn't you?

EILEEN (_with a smile_). Isn't it? You said you hoped you wouldn't get well too soon!

MURRAY. And I meant it! This place is honestly like heaven to me--a lonely heaven till your arrival. (Eileen _looks embarrassed._) And why wouldn't it be? I've no fear for my health--eventually. Just let me tell you what I was getting away from---- (_With a sudden laugh full of a weary bitterness._) Do you know what it means to work from seven at night till three in the morning as a reporter on a morning newspaper in a town of twenty thousand people--for _ten years_? No. You don't. You can't. No one could who hadn't been through the mill. But what it did to me--it made me happy--yes, happy!--to get out here--T.B. and all, notwithstanding.

EILEEN (_looking at him curiously_). But I always thought being a reporter was so interesting.

MURRAY (_with a cynical laugh_). Interesting? On a small town rag? A month of it, perhaps, when you're a kid and new to the game. But ten years. Think of it! With only a raise of a couple of dollars every blue moon or so, and a weekly spree on Saturday night to vary the monotony. (_He laughs again._) Interesting, eh? Getting the dope on the Social of the Queen Esther Circle in the basement of the Methodist Episcopal Church, unable to sleep through a meeting of the Common Council on account of the noisy oratory caused by John Smith's application for a permit to build a house; making a note that a tugboat towed two barges loaded with coal up the river, that Mrs. Perkins spent a week-end with relatives in Hickville, that John Jones---- Oh help! Why go on? Ten years of it! I'm a broken man. God, how I used to pray that our Congressman would commit suicide, or the Mayor murder his wife--just to be able to write a real story!

EILEEN (_with a smile_). Is it as bad as that? But weren't there other things in the town--outside your work--that were interesting?

MURRAY (_decidedly_). No. Never anything new--and I knew everyone and every thing in town by heart years ago. (_With sudden bitterness._) Oh, it was my own fault. Why didn't I get out of it? Well, I didn't. I was always going to--to-morrow--and to-morrow never came. I got in a rut--and stayed put. People seem to get that way, somehow--in that town. It's in the air. All the boys I grew up with--nearly all, at least--took root in the same way. It took pleurisy, followed by T.B., to blast me loose.

EILEEN (_wonderingly_). But--your family--didn't they live there?

MURRAY. I haven't much of a family left. My mother died when I was a kid. My father--he was a lawyer--died when I was nineteen, just about to go to college. He left nothing, so I went to work on the paper instead. And there I've been ever since. I've two sisters, respectably married and living in another part of the state. We don't get along--but they are paying for me here, so I suppose I've no kick. (_Cynically._) A family wouldn't have changed things. From what I've seen that blood-thicker-than-water dope is all wrong. It's thinner than table-d'hote soup. You may have seen a bit of that truth in your own case already.

EILEEN (_shocked_). How can you say that? You don't know----

MURRAY. Don't I, though? Wait till you've been here three months or four--when the gap you left has been comfortably filled. You'll see then!

EILEEN (_angrily, her lips trembling_). You must be crazy to say such things! (_Fighting back her tears._) Oh, I think it's hateful--when you see how badly I feel!

MURRAY (_in acute confusion. Stammering_). Look here, Miss Carmody, I didn't mean to---- Listen--don't feel mad at me, please. My tongue ran away with me. I was only talking. I'm like that. You mustn't take it seriously.

EILEEN (_still resentful_). I don't see how you can talk. You don't--you can't know about these things--when you've just said you had no family of your own, really.

MURRAY (_eager to return to her good graces_). No. Of course I don't know. I was just talking regardless for the fun of listening to it.

EILEEN (_after a pause_). Hasn't either of your sisters any children?

MURRAY. One of them has--two of them--ugly, squally little brats.

EILEEN (_disapprovingly_). You don't like babies?

MURRAY (_bluntly_). No. (_Then with a grin at her shocked face._) I don't get them. They're something I can't seem to get acquainted with.

EILEEN (_with a smile, indulgently_). You're a funny person. (_Then with a superior, motherly air._) No wonder you couldn't understand how badly I feel. (_With a tender smile._) I've four of them--my brothers and sisters--though they're not what you'd call babies, except to me. Billy is fourteen, Nora eleven, Tom ten, and even little Mary is eight. I've been a mother to them now for a whole year--ever since our mother died (_Sadly._) And I don't know how they'll ever get along while I'm away.

MURRAY (_cynically_). Oh, they'll--(_He checks what he was going to say and adds lamely_)--get along somehow.

EILEEN (_with the same superior tone_). It's easy for you to say that. You don't know how children grow to depend on you for everything. You're not a woman.

MURRAY (_with a grin_). Are you? (_Then with a chuckle._) You're as old as the pyramids, aren't you? I feel like a little boy. Won't you adopt me, too?

EILEEN (_flushing, with a shy smile_). Someone ought to. (_Quickly changing the subject._) Do you know, I can't get over what you said about hating your work so. I should think it would be wonderful--to be able to write things.

MURRAY. My job had nothing to do with writing. To write--really write--yes, that's something worth trying for. That's what I've always meant to have a stab at. I've run across ideas enough for stories--that sounded good to me, anyway. (_With a forced, laugh._) But--like everything else--I never got down to it. I started one or two--but--either I thought I didn't have the time or---- (_He shrugs his shoulders._)

EILEEN. Well, you've plenty of time now, haven't you?

MURRAY (_instantly struck by this suggestion_). You mean--I could write--up here? (_She nods. His face lights up with enthusiasm._) Say! That is an idea! Thank you! I'd never have had sense enough to have thought of that myself. (Eileen _flushes with pleasure._) Sure there's time--nothing but time up here----

EILEEN. Then you seriously think you'll try it?

MURRAY (_determinedly_). Yes. Why not? I've got to try and do something real some time, haven't I? I've no excuse not to, now. My mind isn't sick.

EILEEN (_excitedly_). That'll be wonderful!

MURRAY (_confidently_). Listen. I've had ideas for a series of short stories for the last couple of years--small town experiences, some of them actual. I know that life--too darn well. I ought to be able to write about it. And if I can sell one--to the _Post_, say--I'm sure they'd take the others, too. And then--I should worry! It'd be easy sailing. But you must promise to help--play critic for me--read them and tell me where they're rotten.

EILEEN (_pleased, but protesting_). Oh, no, I'd never dare. I don't know anything----

MURRAY. Yes, you do. You're the public. And you started me off on this thing--if I'm really starting at last. So you've got to back me up now. (_Suddenly._) Say, I wonder if they'd let me have a typewriter up here?

EILEEN. It'd be fine if they would. I'd like to have one, too--to practice. I learned stenography at a business college and then I had a position for a year--before my mother died.

MURRAY. We could hire one--I could. I don't see why they wouldn't allow it. I'm to be sent to one of the men's huts within the next few days, and you'll be shipped to one of the women's cottages within ten days. You're not sick enough to be kept here in bed, I'm sure of that.

EILEEN. I--I don't know----

MURRAY. Here! None of that! You just think you're not and you won't be. Say, I'm keen on that typewriter idea. They couldn't kick if we only used it during recreation periods. I could have it a week, and then you a week.

EILEEN (_eagerly_). And I could type your stories after you've written them! I _could_ help that way.

MURRAY (_smiling_). But I'm quite able---- (_Then seeing how interested she is he adds hurriedly._) That'd be great! It'd save so much time. I've always been a fool at a machine. And I'd be willing to pay whatever---- (Miss Gilpin _enters from the rear and walks towards them._)

EILEEN (_quickly_). Oh, no! I'd be glad to get the practice. I wouldn't accept---- (_She coughs slightly._)

MURRAY (_with a laugh_). Maybe, after you've read my stuff, you won't type it at any price.

MISS GILPIN. Miss Carmody, may I speak to you for a moment, please.

(_She takes_ Eileen _aside and talks to her in low tones of
admonition._ Eileen's _face falls. She nods a horrified
acquiescence._ Miss Gilpin _leaves her and goes into the office,
rear._)

MURRAY (_as_ Eileen _comes back. Noticing her perturbation. Kindly_). Well? Now, what's the trouble?

EILEEN (_her lips trembling_). She told me I mustn't forget to shield my mouth with my handkerchief when I cough.

MURRAY (_consolingly_). Yes, that's one of the rules, you know.

EILEEN (_falteringly_). She said they'd give me--a--cup to carry around--(_She stops, shuddering._)

MURRAY (_easily_). It's not as horrible as it sounds. They're only little paste-board things you carry in your pocket.

EILEEN (_as if speaking to herself_). It's so horrible (_She holds out her hand to_ Murray.) I'm to go to my room now. Good night, Mr. Murray.

MURRAY (_holding her hand for a moment--earnestly_). Don't mind your first impressions here. You'll look on everything as a matter of course in a few days. I felt your way at first. (_He drops her hand and shakes his finger at her._) Mind your guardian, now! (_She forces a trembling smile._) See you at breakfast. Good night.

(Eileen _goes out to the hall in rear._ Miss Howard _comes in
from the door just after her, carrying a glass of milk._)

MISS HOWARD. Almost bedtime, Mr. Murray. Here's your diet. (_He takes the glass. She smiles at him provokingly._) Well, is it love at first sight, Mr. Murray?

MURRAY (_with a grin_). Sure thing! You can consider yourself heartlessly jilted. (_He turns and raises his glass towards the door through which_ Eileen _has just gone, as if toasting her._)

"A glass of milk, and thou
Coughing beside me in the wilderness--
Ah--wilderness were Paradise enow!"

(_He takes a sip of milk._)

MISS HOWARD (_peevishly_). That's old stuff, Mr. Murray. A patient at Saranac wrote that parody.

MURRAY (_maliciously_). Aha, you've discovered it's a parody, have you, you sly minx! (Miss Howard _turns from him huffily and walks back towards the office, her chin in the air._)

THE CURTAIN FALLS

Act Two

Act Two: Scene One

_The assembly room of the main building of the sanatorium--early in
the morning of a fine day in June, four months later. The room is
large, light and airy, painted a fresh white. On the left forward,
an armchair. Farther back, a door opening on the main hall. To the
rear of this door, a pianola on a raised platform. At back of the
pianola, a door leading into the office. In the rear wall, a long
series of French windows looking out on the lawn, with wooded hills
in the far background. Shrubs in flower grow immediately outside
the windows Inside, there is a row of potted plants. In the right
wall, rear, four windows. Farther forward, a long well-filled
bookcase, and a doorway leading into the dining-room. Following the
walls, but about five feet out from them a stiff line of chairs
placed closely against each other forms a sort of right-angled
auditorium of which the large, square table that stands at centre,
forward, would seem to be the stage._

_From the dining-room comes the clatter of dishes, the confused
murmur of many voices, male and female--all the mingled sounds of a
crowd of people at a meal._

_After the curtain rises,_ Doctor Stanton _enters from the hall,
followed by a visitor,_ Mr. Sloan, _and the assistant physician,_
Doctor Simms. Doctor Stanton _is a handsome man of forty-five or so
with a grave, care-lined, studious face lightened by a kindly,
humorous smile. His grey eyes, saddened by the suffering they have
witnessed, have the sympathetic quality of real understanding. The
look they give is full of companionship, the courage-renewing,
human companionship of a hope which is shared. He speaks with a
slight Southern accent, soft and slurring._ Doctor Simms _is a
tall, angular young man with a long sallow face and a sheepish,
self-conscious grin._ Mr. Sloan _is fifty, short and stout, well
dressed--one of the successful business men whose endowments have
made the Hill Farm a possibility._

STANTON (_as they enter_). This is what you might see in the general assembly room, Mr. Sloan--where the patients of both sexes are allowed to congregate together after meals, for diets, and in the evening.

SLOAN (_looking around him_). Couldn't be more pleasant, I must say--light and airy. (_He walks to where he can take a peep into the dining-room._) Ah, they're all at breakfast, I see.

STANTON (_smiling_). Yes, and with no lack of appetite, let me tell you. (_With a laugh of proud satisfaction._) They'd sure eat us out of house and home at one sitting, if we'd give them the opportunity. (_To his assistant._) Wouldn't they, Doctor?

SIMMS (_with his abashed grin_). You bet they would, sir.

SLOAN (_with a smile_). That's fine. (_With a nod towards the dining-room._) The ones in there are the sure cures, aren't they?

STANTON (_a shadow coming over his face_). Strictly speaking, there are no sure cures in this disease, Mr. Sloan. When we permit a patient to return to take up his or her activities in the world, the patient is what we call an arrested case. The disease is overcome, quiescent; the wound is healed over. It's then up to the patient to so take care of himself that this condition remains permanent. It isn't hard for them to do this, usually. Just ordinary, bull-headed common sense--added to what they've learned here--is enough for their safety. And the precautions we teach them to take don't diminish their social usefulness in the slightest, either, as I can prove by our statistics of former patients. (_With a smile._) It's rather early in the morning for statistics, though.

SLOAN (_with a wave of the hand_). Oh, you needn't. Your reputation in that respect, Doctor---- (Stanton _inclines his head in acknowledgment._ Sloan _jerks his thumb towards the dining-room_.) But the ones in there _are_ getting well, aren't they?

STANTON. To all appearances, yes. You don't dare swear to it, though. Sometimes, just when a case looks most favourably, there's a sudden, unforeseen breakdown, and they have to be sent back to bed, or, if it's very serious, back to the Infirmary again. These are the exceptions, however, not the rule. You can bank on most of those eaters being out in the world and usefully employed within six months.

SLOAN. You couldn't say more than that (_Abruptly._) But--the unfortunate ones--do you have many deaths?

STANTON (_with a frown_). No. We're under a very hard, almost cruel imperative which prevents that. If, at the end of six months, a case shows no response to treatment, continues to go down hill--if, in a word, it seems hopeless--we send them away, to one of the State Farms if they have no private means. (_Apologetically._) You see, this sanatorium is overcrowded and has a long waiting list, most of the time, of others who demand their chance for life. We have to make places for them. We have no time to waste on incurables. There are other places for them--and sometimes, too, a change is beneficial and they pick up in new surroundings. You never can tell. But we're bound by the rule. It may seem cruel--but it's as near justice to all concerned as we can come.

SLOAN (_soberly_). I see. (_His eyes fall on the pianola in surprise._) Ah--a piano.

STANTON (_replying to the other's thought_). Yes, some patients play and sing. (_With a smile._) If you'd call the noise they make by those terms. They'd dance, too, if we permitted it. There's only one big taboo--Home, Sweet Home. We forbid that--for obvious reasons.

SLOAN. I see. (_With a final look around._) Did I understand you to say this is the only place where the sexes are permitted to mingle?

STANTON. Yes, sir.

SLOAN (_with a smile_). Not much chance for a love affair then.

STANTON (_seriously_). We do our best to prevent them. We even have a strict rule which allows us to step in and put a stop to any intimacy which grows beyond the casual. People up here, Mr. Sloan, are expected to put aside all ideas except the one--getting well.

SLOAN (_somewhat embarrassed_). A damn good rule, too, I should say, under the circumstances.

STANTON (_with a laugh_). Yes, we're strictly anti-Cupid, sir, from top to bottom, (_Turning to the door to the hall._) And now, if you don't mind, Mr. Sloan, I'm going to turn you loose to wander about the grounds on an unconducted tour. To-day is my busy morning--Saturday. We weigh each patient immediately after breakfast.

SLOAN. Every week?

STANTON. Every Saturday. You see we depend on fluctuations in weight to tell us a lot about the patient's condition. If they gain, or stay at normal, all's usually well. If they lose week after week without any reason we can definitely point to, we keep careful watch. It's a sign that something's wrong. We're forewarned by it and on our guard.

SLOAN (_with a smile_). Well, I'm certainly learning things. (_He turns to the door._) And you just shoo me off wherever you please and go on with the good work. I'll be glad of a ramble in the open on such a glorious morning.

STANTON. After the weighing is over, sir, I'll be free to----

(_His words are lost as the three go out. A moment later,_ Eileen
_enters from the dining-room. She has grown stouter, her face has
more of a healthy, out-of-door colour, but there is still about
her the suggestion of being worn down by a burden too oppressive
for her courage. She is dressed in blouse and dark skirt. She
goes to the armchair, left forward, and sinks down on it. She
is evidently in a state of nervous depression; she twists her
fingers together in her lap; her eyes stare sadly before her; she
clenches her upper lip with her teeth to prevent its trembling.
She has hardly regained control over herself when_ Stephen Murray
_comes in hurriedly from the dining-room and, seeing her at his
first glance, walks quickly over to her chair. He is the picture
of health, his figure has filled out solidly, his tanned face
beams with suppressed exultation._)

MURRAY (_excitedly_). Eileen! I saw you leave your table. I've something to tell you. I didn't get a chance last night after the mail came. You'd gone to the cottage. Just listen, Eileen--it's too good to be true--but on that mail--guess what?

EILEEN (_forgetting her depression--with an excited smile_). I know! You've sold your story!

MURRAY (_triumphantly_). Go to the head of the class. What d'you know about that for luck! My first, too--and only the third magazine I sent it to! (_He cuts a joyful caper._)

EILEEN (_happily_). Isn't that wonderful, Stephen! But I knew all the time you would. The story's so good.

MURRAY. Well, you might have known, but I didn't think there was a chance in the world. And as for being good--(_With superior air_)--wait till I turn loose with the real big ones, the kind I'm going to write. Then I'll make them sit up and take notice. They can't stop me now. This money gives me a chance to sit back and do what I please for a while. And I haven't told you the best part. The editor wrote saying how much he liked the yarn and asked me for more of the same kind.

EILEEN. And you've the three others about the same person--just as good, too! Why, you'll sell them all! (_She clasps her hands delightedly._)

MURRAY. And I can send them out right away. They're all typed, thanks to you. That's what's brought me luck, I know. I never had a bit by myself. (_Then, after a quick glance around to make sure they are alone, he bends down and kisses her._) There! A token of gratitude--even if it is against the rules.

EILEEN (_flushing--with timid happiness_). Stephen! You mustn't! They'll see.

MURRAY (_boldly_). Let them!

EILEEN. But you know--they've warned us against being so much together, already.

MURRAY. Let them! We'll be out of this prison soon. (Eileen _shakes her head sadly, but he does not notice._) Oh, I wish you could leave when I do. We'd have some celebration together.

EILEEN (_her lips trembling_). I was thinking last night--that you'd soon be going away. You look so well. Do you think--they'll let you go--soon?

MURRAY. You bet I do. I'm bound to go now. It's ridiculous keeping me here when I'm as healthy as a pig. I caught Stanton in the hall last night and asked him if I could go.

EILEEN (_anxiously_). What did he say?

MURRAY. He only smiled and said: "We'll see if you gain weight to-morrow." As if that mattered now! Why, I'm way above normal as it is! But you know Stanton--always putting you off. But I could tell by the way he said it he'd be willing to consider----

EILEEN (_slowly_). Then--if you gain to-day---

MURRAY. He'll let me go. Yes, I know he will. I'm going to insist on it.

EILEEN. Then--you'll leave----?

MURRAY. Right away. The minute I can get packed.

EILEEN (_trying to force a smile_). Oh, I'm so glad--for your sake; but--I'm selfish--it'll be so lonely here without you.

MURRAY (_consolingly_). You'll be going away yourself before long. (Eileen _shakes her head. He goes on without noticing, wrapped in his own success._) Oh, Eileen, you can't imagine all it opens up for me--selling that story. I don't have to go back home to stagnate. I can go straight to New York, and live, and meet real people who are doing things. I can take my time, and try and do the work I hope to. (_Feelingly._) You don't know how grateful I am to you, Eileen--how you've helped me. Oh, I don't mean just the typing, I mean your encouragement, your faith! I'd never have had guts enough to stick to it myself. The stories would never have been written if it hadn't been for you.

EILEEN (_choking back a sob_). I didn't do--anything.

MURRAY (_staring down at her--with rough kindliness_). Here, here, that'll never do! You're not weeping about it, are you, silly? (_He pats her on the shoulder._) What's the matter, Eileen? You didn't eat a thing this morning. I was watching you. (_With kindly severity._) That's no way to gain weight, you know. You'll have to feed up. Do you hear what your guardian commands, eh?

EILEEN (_with dull hopelessness_). I know I'll lose again. I've been losing steadily the past three weeks.

MURRAY. Here! Don't you dare talk that way! I won't stand for it. Why, you've been picking up wonderfully--until just lately. You've made such a game fight for four months. Even the old Doc has told you how much he admired your pluck, and how much better you were getting. You're not going to quit now, are you?

EILEEN (_despairingly_). Oh, I don't care! I don't care--now.

MURRAY. Now? What do you mean by that? What's happened to make things any different?

EILEEN (_evasively_). Oh--nothing. Don't ask me, Stephen.

MURRAY (_with sudden anger_). I don't have to ask you. I can guess. Another letter from home--or from that ass, eh?

EILEEN (_shaking her head_). No, it isn't that. (_She looks at him as if imploring him to comprehend._)

MURRAY (_furiously_). Of course, you'd deny it. You always do. But don't you suppose I've got eyes? It's been the same damn thing all the time you've been here. After every nagging letter--thank God they don't write often any more!--you've been all in; and after their Sunday visits--you can thank God they've been few, too--you're utterly knocked out. It's a shame! The selfish swine!

EILEEN. Stephen!

MURRAY (_relentlessly._) Don't be sentimental, Eileen. You know it's true. From what you've told me of their letters, their visits--from what I've seen and suspected--they've done nothing but worry and torment you and do their best to keep you from getting well.

EILEEN (_faintly_). You're not fair, Stephen.

MURRAY. Rot! When it isn't your father grumbling about expense, it's the kids, or that stupid housekeeper, or that slick Aleck, Nicholls, with his cowardly lies. Which is it this time?

EILEEN (_pitifully_). None of them.

MURRAY (_explosively_). But him, especially--the dirty cad! Oh, I've got a rich notion to pay a call on that gentleman when I leave and tell him what I think of him.

EILEEN (_quickly_). No--you mustn't ever! He's not to blame. If you knew---- (_She stops, lowering her eyes in confusion._)

MURRAY (_roughly_). Knew what? You make me sick, Eileen--always finding excuses for him. I never could understand what a girl like you could see---- But what's the use? I've said all this before. You're wasting yourself on a---- (_Rudely._) Love must be blind. And yet you say you don't love him, really?

EILEEN (_shaking her head--helplessly_). But I do--like Fred. We've been good friends so many years. I don't want to hurt him--his pride----

MURRAY. That's the same as answering no to my question. Then, if you don't love him, why don't you write and tell him to go to--break it off? (Eileen _bows her head, but doesn't reply. Irritated,_ Murray _continues brutally._) Are you afraid it would break his heart? Don't be a fool! The only way you could do that would be to deprive him of his meals.

EILEEN (_springing to her feet--distractedly_). Please stop, Stephen! You're cruel! And you've been so kind--the only real friend I've had up here. Don't spoil it all now.

MURRAY (_remorsefully_). I'm sorry, Eileen. I was only talking. I won't say another word. (_Irritably._) Still, someone ought to say or do something to put a stop to----

EILEEN (_with a broken laugh_). Never mind. Everything will stop--soon, now!

MURRAY (_suspiciously_). What do you mean?

EILEEN (_with an attempt at a careless tone_). Nothing. If you can't see---- (_She turns to him with sudden intensity._) Oh, Stephen, if you only knew how wrong you are about everything you've said. It's all true; but it isn't that--any of it--any more--that's---- Oh, I can't tell you!

MURRAY (_with great interest_). Please do, Eileen!

EILEEN (_with a helpless laugh_). No.

MURRAY. Please tell me what it is! Let me help you.

EILEEN. No. It wouldn't be any use, Stephen.

MURRAY (_offended_). Why do you say that? Haven't I helped before?

EILEEN. Yes--but this----

MURRAY. Come now! 'Fess up! What is "this"?

EILEEN. No. I couldn't speak of it here, anyway. They'll all be coming out soon.

MURRAY (_insistently_). Then when? Where?

EILEEN. Oh, I don't know--perhaps never, nowhere. I don't know---- Sometime before you leave, maybe.

MURRAY. But I may go to-morrow morning--if I gain weight and Stanton lets me.

EILEEN (_sadly_). Yes, I was forgetting--you were going right away. (_Dully_). Then nowhere, I suppose--never. (_Glancing towards the dining-room._) They're all getting up. Let's not talk about it any more--now.

MURRAY (_stubbornly_). But you'll tell me later, Eileen? You must.

EILEEN (_vaguely_). Perhaps. It depends----

(_The patients, about forty in number, straggle in from the
dining-room by twos and threes, chatting in low tones. The men
and women with few exceptions separate into two groups, the
women congregating in the left right angle of chairs, the men
sitting or standing in the right right angle. In appearance, most
of the patients are tanned, healthy, and cheerful-looking. The
great majority are under middle age. Their clothes are of the
cheap, ready-made variety. They are all distinctly of the
wage-earning class. They might well be a crowd of cosmopolitan
factory workers gathered together after a summer vacation. A
hollow-chestedness and a tendency to round shoulders may be
detected as a common characteristic. A general air of tension,
marked by frequent bursts of laughter in too high a key, seems to
pervade the throng._ Murray _and_ Eileen, _as if to avoid contact
with the others, come over to the right in front of the
dining-room door._)

MURRAY (_in a low voice_). Listen to them laugh. Did you ever notice--perhaps it's my imagination--how forced they act on Saturday mornings before they're weighed?

EILEEN (_dully_). No.

MURRAY. Can't you tell me that secret now? No one'll hear.

EILEEN (_vehemently_). No, no, how could I? Don't speak of it!

(_A sudden silence falls on all the groups at once. Their eyes,
by a common impulse, turn quickly towards the door to the
hall._)

A WOMAN (_nervously--as if this moment's silent pause oppressed her._) Play something, Peters. They ain't coming yet.

(Peters, _a stupid-looking young fellow with a sly, twisted
smirk which gives him the appearance of perpetually winking his
eye, detaches himself from a group on the right. All join in with
urging exclamations: "Go on, Peters! Go to it! Pedal up, Pete!
Give us a rag! That's the boy, Peters!" etc._)

PETERS. Sure, if I got time.

(_He goes to the pianola and puts in a roll. The mingled
conversation and laughter bursts forth again as he sits on the
bench and starts pedalling._)

MURRAY (_disgustedly_). It's sure good to think I won't have to listen to that old tin-pan being banged much longer!

(_The music interrupts him--a quick rag. The patients brighten,
hum, whistle, sway their heads or tap their feet in time to the
tune._ Doctor Stanton _and_ Doctor Simms _appear in the
doorway from the hall. All eyes are turned on them._)

STANTON (_raising his voice_). They all seem to be here, Doctor. We might as well start.

(Mrs. Turner, _the matron, comes in behind them--a stout,
motherly, capable-looking woman with grey hair. She hears_
Stanton's _remark._)

MRS. TURNER. And take temperatures after, Doctor?

STANTON. Yes, Mrs. Turner. I think that's better to-day.

MRS. TURNER. All right, Doctor.

(Stanton _and the assistant go out._ Mrs. Turner _advances a step
or so into the room and looks from one group of patients to the
other, inclining her head and smiling benevolently. All force
smiles and nod in recognition of her greeting._ Peters, _at the
pianola, lets the music slow down, glancing questioningly at the
matron to see if she is going to order it stopped. Then,
encouraged by her smile, his feet pedal harder than ever._)

MURRAY. Look at old Mrs. Grundy's eyes pinned on us! She'll accuse us of being too familiar again, the old wench!

EILEEN. Sssh. You're wrong. She's looking at me, not at us.

MURRAY. At you? Why?

EILEEN. I ran a temperature yesterday. It must have been over a hundred last night.

MURRAY. (_with consoling scepticism_). You're always looking for trouble, Eileen. How do you know you ran a temp? You didn't see the stick, I suppose?

EILEEN. No--but--I could tell. I felt feverish and chilly. It must have been way up.

MURRAY. Bosh! If it was you'd have been sent to bed.

EILEEN. That's why she's looking at me. (_Piteously._) Oh, I do hope I won't be sent back to bed! I don't know what I'd do. If I could only gain this morning. If my temp has only gone down! (_Hopelessly._) But I feel---- I didn't sleep a wink--thinking----

MURRAY. (_roughly_). You'll persuade yourself you've got leprosy in a second. Don't be silly! It's all imagination, I tell you. You'll gain. Wait and see if you don't.

(Eileen _shakes her head. A metallic rumble and jangle comes
from the hallway. Everyone turns in that direction with nervous
expectancy._)

MRS. TURNER (_admonishingly_). Mr. Peters!

PETERS. Yes, ma'am.

(_He stops playing and rejoins the group of men on the right.
In the midst of a silence broken only by hushed murmurs of
conversation,_ Doctor Stanton _appears in the hall doorway.
He turns to help his assistant wheel in a Fairbanks scale on
castors. They place the scale against the wall immediately to the
rear of the doorway._ Doctor Simms _adjusts it to a perfect
balance._)

DOCTOR STANTON (_takes a pencil from his pocket and opens the record book he has in his hand_). All ready, Doctor?

DOCTOR SIMMS. Just a second, sir.

(_A chorus of coughs comes from the impatient crowd, and
handkerchiefs are hurriedly produced to shield mouths._)

MURRAY (_with a nervous smile_). Well, we're all set. Here's hoping!

EILEEN. You'll gain, I'm sure you will. You look so well.

MURRAY. Oh--I--I wasn't thinking of myself, I'm a sure thing. I was betting on you. I've simply got to gain to-day, when so much depends on it.

EILEEN. Yes, I hope you---- (_She falters brokenly and turns away from him._)

DOCTOR SIMMS (_straightening up_). All ready, Doctor?

STANTON (_nods and glances at his book--without raising his voice--distinctly_). Mrs. Abner.

(_A middle-aged woman comes and gets on the scale._ Simms
_adjusts it to her weight of the previous week, which_ Stanton
_reads to him from the book in a low voice, and weighs her._)

MURRAY (_with a relieved sigh_). They're off. (_Noticing_ Eileen's _downcast head and air of dejection._) Here! Buck up, Eileen! Old Lady Grundy's watching you--and it's your turn in a second.

(Eileen _raises her head and forces a frightened smile._ Mrs.
Abner _gets down off the scale with a pleased grin. She has
evidently gained. She rejoins the group of women, chattering
volubly in low tones. Her exultant "gained half a pound" can be
heard. The other women smile their perfunctory congratulations,
their eyes absent-minded, intent on their own worries._ Stanton
_writes down the weight in the book._)

STANTON. Miss Bailey. (_A young girl goes to the scales._)

MURRAY. Bailey looks bad, doesn't she?

EILEEN (_her lips trembling_). She's been losing, too.

MURRAY. Well, _you're_ going to gain to-day. Remember, now!

EILEEN (_with a feeble smile_). I'll try to obey your orders.

(Miss Bailey _goes down off the scales. Her eyes are full of
despondency although she tries to make a brave face of it,
forcing a laugh as she joins the women. They stare at her with
pitying looks and murmur consoling phrases._)

EILEEN. She's lost again. Oh, I wish I didn't have to get weighed----

STANTON. Miss Carmody.

(Eileen _starts nervously._)

MURRAY (_as she leaves him_). Remember now! Break the scales!

(_She walks quickly to the scales, trying to assume an air of
defiant indifference. The balance stays down as she steps up._
Eileen's _face shows her despair at this._ Simms _weighs her and
gives the poundage in a low voice to_ Stanton. Eileen _steps down
mechanically, then hesitates as if not knowing where to turn, her
anguished eyes flitting from one group to another._)

MURRAY (_savagely_). Damn!

(Doctor Stanton _writes the figures in his book, glances sharply
at_ Eileen, _and then nods significantly to_ Mrs. Turner _who is
standing beside him._)

STANTON (_calling the next_). Miss Doeffler.

(_Another woman comes to be weighed._)

MRS. TURNER. Miss Carmody! Will you come here a moment, please?

EILEEN (_her face growing very pale_). Yes, Mrs. Turner.

(_The heads of the different groups bend together. Their eyes
follow_ Eileen _as they whisper._ Mrs. Turner _leads her down
front, left. Behind them the weighing of the women continues
briskly. The great majority have gained. Those who have not have
either remained stationary or lost a negligible fraction of a
pound. So, as the weighing proceeds, the general air of smiling
satisfaction rises among the groups of women. Some of them, their
ordeal over, go out through the hall doorway by twos and threes
with suppressed laughter and chatter. As they pass behind_ Eileen
_they glance at her with pitying curiosity._ Doctor Stanton's
_voice is heard at regular intervals calling the names in
alphabetical order: Mrs. Elbing, Miss Finch, Miss Grimes, Miss
Haines, Miss Hayes, Miss Jutner, Miss Linowski, Mrs. Marini, Mrs.
McCoy, Miss McElroy, Miss Nelson, Mrs. Nott, Mrs. O'Brien, Mrs.
Olson, Miss Paul, Miss Petrovski, Mrs. Quinn, Miss Robersi, Mrs.
Stattler, Miss Unger._)

MRS. TURNER (_putting her hand on_ Eileen's _shoulder--kindly_). You're not looking so well lately, my dear, do you know it?

EILEEN (_bravely_). I feel--fine. (_Her eyes, as if looking for encouragement, seek_ Murray, _who is staring at her worriedly._)

MRS. TURNER (_gently_). You lost weight again, you know.

EILEEN, I know--but----

MRS. TURNER. This is the fourth week.

EILEEN. I--I know it is----

MRS. TURNER. I've been keeping my eye on you. You seem--worried. Are you upset about--something we don't know?

EILEEN (_quickly_). No, no! I haven't slept much lately. That must be it.

MRS. TURNER. Are you worrying about your condition? Is that what keeps you awake?

EILEEN. No.

MRS. TURNER. You're sure it's not that?

EILEEN. Yes, I'm sure it's not, Mrs. Turner.

MRS. TURNER. I was going to tell you if you were: Don't do it! You can't expect it to be all smooth sailing. Even the most favourable cases have to expect these little setbacks. A few days' rest in bed will start you on the right trail again.

EILEEN (_in anguish, although she had realised this was coming_). Bed? Go back to bed? Oh, Mrs. Turner!

MRS. TURNER (_gently_). Yes, my dear, Doctor Stanton thinks it best. So when you go back to your cottage----

EILEEN. Oh, please--not to-day--not right away!

MRS. TURNER. You had a temperature and a high pulse yesterday, didn't you realise it? And this morning you look quite feverish. (_She tries to put her hand on_ Eileen's _forehead, but the latter steps away defensively._)

EILEEN. It's only--not sleeping last night. I was nervous. Oh, I'm sure it'll go away.

MRS. TURNER (_consolingly_). When you lie still and have perfect rest, of course it will.

EILEEN (_with a longing look over at_ Murray). But not to-day--please, Mrs. Turner.

MRS. TURNER (_looking at her keenly_). There is something upsetting you. You've something on your mind that you can't tell me, is that it? (Eileen _maintains a stubborn silence._) But think--_can't_ you tell me? (_With a kindly smile._) I'm used to other people's troubles. I've been playing mother-confessor to the patients for years now, and I think I've usually been able to help them. Can't you confide in me, child? (Eileen _drops her eyes, but remains silent._ Mrs. Turner _glances meaningly over at_ Murray, _who is watching them whenever he thinks the matron is not aware of it--a note of sharp rebuke in her voice._) I think I can guess your secret, my dear, even if you're too stubborn to tell. This setback is your own fault. You've let other notions become more important to you than the idea of getting well. And you've no excuse for it. After I had to warn you a month ago, I expected _that_ silliness to stop instantly.

EILEEN (_her face flushed--protesting_). There never was anything. Nothing like that has anything to do with it.

MRS. TURNER (_sceptically_). What is it that has, then?

EILEEN (_lying determinedly_). It's my family. They keep writing--and worrying me--and---- That's what it is, Mrs. Turner.

MRS. TURNER (_not exactly knowing whether to believe this or not--probing the girl with her eyes_). Your father?

EILEEN. Yes, all of them. (_Suddenly seeing a way to discredit all of the matron's suspicions--excitedly._) And principally the young man I'm engaged to--the one who came to visit me several times----

MRS. TURNER (_surprised_). So--you're engaged? (Eileen _nods._ Mrs. Turner _immediately dismisses her suspicions._) Oh, pardon me. I didn't know that, you see, or I wouldn't---- (_She pats_ Eileen _on the shoulder comfortingly._) Never mind. You'll tell me all about it, won't you?

EILEEN (_desperately_). Yes. (_She seems about to go on, but the matron interrupts her._)

MRS. TURNER. Oh, not here, my dear. Now now. Come to my room--let me see--I'll be busy all the morning--some time this afternoon. Will you do that?

EILEEN. Yes. (_Joyfully._) Then I needn't go to bed right away?

MRS. TURNER. No--on one condition. You mustn't take any exercise. Stay in your recliner all day and rest and remain in bed to-morrow morning. And promise me you will rest and not worry any more about things we can easily fix up between us.

EILEEN. I promise, Mrs. Turner.

MRS. TURNER (_smiling in dismissal_). Very well, then. I must speak to Miss Bailey. I'll see you this afternoon.

EILEEN. Yes, Mrs. Turner.

(_The matron goes to the rear where_ Miss Bailey _is sitting
with_ Mrs. Abner. _She beckons to_ Miss Bailey, _who gets up with
a scared look, and they go to the far left corner of the room._
Eileen _stands for a moment hesitating--then starts to go to_
Murray, _but just at this moment_ Peters _comes forward and
speaks to_ Murray.)

PETERS (_with his sly twisted grin_). Say, Carmody musta lost fierce. Did yuh see the Old Woman handin' her an earful? Sent her back to bed, I betcha. What d'yuh think?

MURRAY (_impatiently, showing his dislike_). How the hell do I know?

PETERS (_sneeringly_). Huh, you don't know nothin' 'bout her, I s'pose? Where d'yuh get that stuff? Think yuh're kiddin' me?

MURRAY (_with cold rage before which the other slinks away_). Peters, the more I see of you the better I like a skunk! If it wasn't for other people losing weight you couldn't get any joy out of life, could you? (_Roughly._) Get away from me! (_He makes a threatening gesture._)

PETERS (_beating a snarling retreat_). Wait 'n' see if yuh don't lose too, yuh stuck-up boob!

(_Seeing that_ Murray _is alone again,_ Eileen _starts towards
him, but this time she is intercepted by_ Mrs. Abner, _who stops
on her way out. The weighing of the women is now finished, and
that of the men, which proceeds much quicker, begins._)

STANTON. Anderson!

(_Anderson comes to the scales. The men all move down to the
left to wait their turn, with the exception of_ Murray, _who
remains by the dining-room door, fidgeting impatiently, anxious
for a word with_ Eileen.)

MRS. ABNER (_taking_ Eileen's _arm_). Coming over to the cottage, dearie?

EILEEN. Not just this minute, Mrs. Abner. I have to wait----

MRS. ABNER. For the Old Woman? You lost to-day, didn't you? Is she sendin' you to bed, the old devil?

EILEEN. Yes, I'm afraid I'll have to----

MRS. ABNER. She's a mean one, ain't she? I gained this week--half a pound. Lord, I'm gittin' fat! All my clothes are gittin' too small for me. Don't know what I'll do. Did you lose much, dearie?

EILEEN. Three pounds.

MRS. ABNER. Ain't that awful! (_Hastening to make up for this thoughtless remark._) All the same, what's three pounds! You can git them back in a week after you're resting more. You been runnin' a temp, too, ain't you? (_Eileen nods._) Don't worry about it, dearie. It'll go down. Worryin's the worst. Me, I don't never worry none. (_She chuckled with satisfaction--then soberly._) I just been talkin' with Bailey. She's got to go to bed, too, I guess. She lost two pounds. She ain't runnin' no temp though.

STANTON. Barnes! (_Another man comes to the scales._)

MRS. ABNER (_in a mysterious whisper_). Look at Mr. Murray, dearie. Ain't he nervous to-day? I don't know as I blame him, either. I heard the doctor said he'd let him go home if he gained to-day. Is it true, d'you know?

EILEEN (_dully_). I don't know.

MRS. ABNER. Gosh, I wish it was me! My old man's missin' me like the dickens, he writes. (_She starts to go._) You'll be over to the cottage in a while, won't you? Me 'n' you'll have a game of casino, eh?

EILEEN (_happy at this deliverance_). Yes, I'll be glad to.

STANTON. Cordero!

(Mrs. Abner _goes out._ Eileen _again starts towards_ Murray,
_but this time_ Flynn, _a young fellow with a brick-coloured,
homely, good-natured face, and a shaven-necked haircut, slouches
back to_ Murray. Eileen _is brought to a halt in front of the
table where she stands, her face working with nervous strain,
clasping and unclasping her trembling hands._)

FLYNN (_curiously_). Say, Steve, what's this bull about the Doc lettin' yuh beat it if yuh gain to-day? Is it straight goods?

MURRAY. He said he might, that's all. (_Impatiently._) How the devil did that story get travelling around?

FLYNN (_with a grin_). Wha' d'yuh expect with this gang of skirts chewin' the fat? Well, here's hopin' yuh come home a winner, Steve.

MURRAY (_gratefully_). Thanks. (_With confidence._) Oh, I'll gain all right; but whether he'll let me go or not---- (_He shrugs his shoulders._)