LIZBETH. [In a lower tone.] Come here!
MRS. VERNON. Give me the prescription. [LIZBETH arranges the linen in the basket. Enter DAVE.] Dave, the ironin' an' the heat an' everything jes' about floored me—won't you go to the drug-store with this prescription, an' get me a quart bottle of St. Louis beer?
DAVE. [Taking the prescription.] Certainly.
MRS. VERNON. I can't send the girls after dark.
DAVE. Oh, that's all right. [Exits to street.
MRS. VERNON. [Ironing again.] If your pa ever does get into the Legislature, I hope he'll defeat this blamed local auction business. It's all well enough for those Salvation women who ain't got a thing to do but pound tambourines, but if they had the washin', and ironin', an' cookin' to do for a fambly of six—an' three dogs—they'd need something to keep body an' soul together.
KATE. [Going to street door.] How much longer shall you iron to-night?
MRS. VERNON. Why? Do you want the room?
KATE. Oh, no—but—
LIZBETH. Is Travers coming to-night, Kate? [Sits in rocker.