RUTH. (in a dead tone) There’s a time comes—when you don’t mind any more—anything.
ANDREW. (looks at her fixedly for a moment—with great pity) I’m sorry, Ruth—if I seemed to blame you. I didn’t realize—— The sight of Rob lying in bed there, so gone to pieces—it made me furious at everyone. Forgive me, Ruth.
RUTH. There’s nothing to forgive. It doesn’t matter.
ANDREW. (springing to his feet again and pacing up and down) Thank God I came back before it was too late. This doctor will know exactly what to do. That’s the first thing to think of. When Rob’s on his feet again we can get the farm working on a sound basis once more. I’ll see to that—before I leave.
RUTH. You’re going away again?
ANDREW. I’ve got to.
RUTH. You wrote Rob you was coming back to stay this time.
ANDREW. I expected to—until I got to New York. Then I learned certain facts that make it necessary. (With a short laugh) To be candid, Ruth, I’m not the rich man you’ve probably been led to believe by my letters—not now. I was when I wrote them. I made money hand over fist as long as I stuck to legitimate trading; but I wasn’t content with that. I wanted it to come easier, so like all the rest of the idiots, I tried speculation. Oh, I won all right! Several times I’ve been almost a millionaire—on paper—and then come down to earth again with a bump. Finally the strain was too much. I got disgusted with myself and made up my mind to get out and come home and forget it and really live again. (He gives a harsh laugh) And now comes the funny part. The day before the steamer sailed I saw what I thought was a chance to become a millionaire again. (He snaps his fingers) That easy! I plunged. Then, before things broke, I left—I was so confident I couldn’t be wrong. But when I landed in New York—I wired you I had business to wind up, didn’t I? Well, it was the business that wound me up! (He smiles grimly, pacing up and down, his hands in his pockets).
RUTH. (dully) You found—you’d lost everything?
ANDREW. (sitting down again) Practically. (He takes a cigar from his pocket, bites the end off, and lights it) Oh, I don’t mean I’m dead broke. I’ve saved ten thousand from the wreckage, maybe twenty. But that’s a poor showing for five years’ hard work. That’s why I’ll have to go back. (Confidently) I can make it up in a year or so down there—and I don’t need but a shoestring to start with. (A weary expression comes over his face and he sighs heavily) I wish I didn’t have to. I’m sick of it all.