MRS. ATKINS. (with keen interest) Ruth says Andy ought to turn up any day. When does Robert figger he’ll get here?
MRS. MAYO. He says he can’t calculate exactly on account o’ the Sunda being a sail boat. Last letter he got was from England, the day they were sailing for home. That was over a month ago, and Robbie thinks they’re overdue now.
MRS. ATKINS. We can give praise to God then that he’ll be back in the nick o’ time. He ought to be tired of travelin’ and anxious to get home and settle down to work again.
MRS. MAYO. Andy has been working. He’s head officer on Dick’s boat, he wrote Robbie. You know that.
MRS. ATKINS. That foolin’ on ships is all right for a spell, but he must be right sick of it by this.
MRS. MAYO. (musingly) I wonder if he’s changed much. He used to be so fine-looking and strong. (With a sigh) Three years! It seems more like three hundred. (Her eyes filling—piteously) Oh, if James could only have lived ’til he came back—and forgiven him!
MRS. ATKINS. He never would have—not James Mayo! Didn’t he keep his heart hardened against him till the last in spite of all you and Robert did to soften him?
MRS. MAYO. (with a feeble flash of anger) Don’t you dare say that! (Brokenly) Oh, I know deep down in his heart he forgave Andy, though he was too stubborn ever to own up to it. It was that brought on his death—breaking his heart just on account of his stubborn pride. (She wipes her eyes with her handkerchief and sobs).
MRS. ATKINS. (piously) It was the will of God. (The whining crying of the child sounds from the kitchen. MRS. ATKINS frowns irritably) Drat that young one! Seems as if she cries all the time on purpose to set a body’s nerves on edge.
MRS. MAYO. (wiping her eyes) It’s the heat upsets her. Mary doesn’t feel any too well these days, poor little child!