Tom: Say, Ma, don’t wake me up. And shall “muzzer’s” own little boy set the table?
Mrs. Loving: Thank you, Son.
Tom (Folds the green cloth, hangs it over the back of the arm-chair, gets white table-cloth from kitchenette and sets the table. The whole time he is whistling blithely a popular air. He lights one of the gas jets over the table): Ma!
Mrs. Loving: Yes, Son.
Tom: I made “squad” today,—I’m quarterback. Five other fellows tried to make it. We’ll all have to buy new hats, now.
Mrs. Loving (With surprise): Buy new hats! Why?
Tom (Makes a ridiculous gesture to show that his head and hers are both swelling): Honest, Ma, I had to carry my hat in my hand tonight,—couldn’t even get it to perch aloft.
Mrs. Loving (Smiling): Well, I for one, Son, am not going to say anything to make you more conceited.
Tom: You don’t have to say anything. Why, Ma, ever since I told you, you can almost look down your own back your head is so high. What? (Mrs. Loving laughs. The outer door of the flat opens and shuts. Rachel’s voice is heard).
Rachel (Without): My! that was a “drefful” climb, wasn’t it? Ma, I’ve got something here for you. (Appears in the doorway carrying packages and leading a little boy by the hand. The little fellow is shy but smiling). Hello, Tommy! Here, take these things for me. This is Jimmy. Isn’t he a dear? Come, Jimmy. (Tom carries the packages into the kitchenette. Rachel leads Jimmy to Mrs. Loving). Ma dear, this is my brown baby. I’m going to take him right down stairs again. His mother is as sweet as can be, and let me bring him up just to see you. Jimmy, this is Ma dear. (Mrs. Loving turns expectantly to see the child. Standing before her, he raises his face to hers with an engaging smile. Suddenly, without word or warning, her body stiffens; her hands grip her sewing convulsively; her eyes stare. She makes no sound).