CURTIS—[A broad grin coming over his face.] You speak from experience, eh?
BIGELOW—[Smiling.] You bet I do. Touch me anywhere and you'll find a bite. This, my native town, did me the honor of devoting its entire leisure attention for years to stinging me to death.
CURTIS—Well, if I am to believe one-tenth of the family letters I used to receive on the subject of my old friend, Bigelow, they sure had just cause.
BIGELOW—Oh, I'll play fair. I'll admit they did—then. But it's exasperating to know they never give you credit for changing—I almost said, reforming, One ought to be above the gossip of a town like this—but say what you like, it does get under your skin.
CURTIS—[With an indulgent smile.] So you'd like to be known as a reformed character, eh?
BIGELOW—[Rather ruefully.] Et tu! Your tone is sceptical. But I swear to you, Curt, I'm an absolutely new man since my wife's death, since I've grown to love the children. Before that I hardly knew them. They were hers, not mine, it seemed. [His face lighting up.] Now we're the best of pals, and I've commenced to appreciate life from a different angle. I've found a career at last—the children—the finest career a man could have, I believe.
CURTIS—[Indifferently.] Yes, I suppose so—if you're made that way.
BIGELOW—Meaning you're not?
CURTIS—Not any more. [Frowning.] I tried that once.
BIGELOW—[After a pause—with a smile.] But we're wandering from the subject of Martha versus the mosquitoes.