ANDREW. Don’t interfere, Rob—that’s all I ask. (Turning to his uncle) You haven’t answered my question, Uncle Dick.
SCOTT. (clearing his throat, with an uneasy side glance at JAMES MAYO who is staring at his elder son as if he thought he had suddenly gone mad) O’ course, I’d be glad to have you, Andy.
ANDREW. It’s settled then. I can pack the little I want to take in a few minutes.
MRS. MAYO. Don’t be a fool, Dick. Andy’s only joking you.
SCOTT. (disgruntedly) It’s hard to tell who’s jokin’ and who’s not in this house.
ANDREW. (firmly) I’m not joking, Uncle Dick. (As SCOTT looks at him uncertainly) You needn’t be afraid I’ll go back on my word.
ROBERT. (hurt by the insinuation he feels in ANDREW’S tone) Andy! That isn’t fair!
MAYO. (frowning) Seems to me this ain’t no subject to joke over—not for Andy.
ANDREW. (facing his father) I agree with you, Pa, and I tell you again, once and for all, that I’ve made up my mind to go.
MAYO. (dumbfounded—unable to doubt the determination in ANDREW’S voice—helplessly) But why, son? Why?