ROBERT. (wearily) It is so! Don’t lie to me. After Ruth put me to bed before you came, I saw it clearly for the first time. (Bitterly) I’d been making plans for our future—Ruth’s and mine—so it came hard at first—the realization. Then when the doctor examined me, I knew—although he tried to lie about it. And then to make sure I listened at the door to what he told you. So don’t mock me with fairy tales about Arizona, or any such rot as that. Because I’m dying is no reason you should treat me as an imbecile or a coward. Now that I’m sure what’s happening I can say Kismet to it with all my heart. It was only the silly uncertainty that hurt. (There is a pause. ANDREW looks around in impotent anguish, not knowing what to say. ROBERT regards him with an affectionate smile).
ANDREW. (finally blurts out) It isn’t foolish. You have got a chance. If you heard all the Doctor said that ought to prove it to you.
ROBERT. Oh, you mean when he spoke of the miracle? (Dryly) I don’t believe in miracles—in my case. Besides, I know more than any doctor on earth could know—because I feel what’s coming. (Dismissing the subject) But we’ve agreed not to talk of it. Tell me about yourself, Andy. That’s what I’m interested in. Your letters were too brief and far apart to be illuminating.
ANDREW. I meant to write oftener.
ROBERT. (with a faint trace of irony) I judge from them you’ve accomplished all you set out to do five years ago?
ANDREW. That isn’t much to boast of.
ROBERT. (surprised) Have you really, honestly reached that conclusion?
ANDREW. Well, it doesn’t seem to amount to much now.
ROBERT. But you’re rich, aren’t you?
ANDREW. (with a quick glance at RUTH) Yes, I s’pose so.