CARMODY (grudgingly). Take a chair, Doctor, and tell me what's wrong with Eileen.
GAYNOR (seating himself by the table—gravely). Your daughter is very seriously ill.
CARMODY (irritably). Aw, Doctor, didn't I know you'd be sayin' that, anyway!
GAYNOR (ignoring this remark—coldly). Your daughter has tuberculosis of the lungs.
CARMODY (with puzzled awe). Too-ber-c'losis?
GAYNOR. Consumption, if that makes it plainer to you.
CARMODY (with dazed terror—after a pause). Consumption? Eileen? (With sudden anger.) What lie is it you're tellin' me?
GAYNOR (icily). Look here, Carmody! I'm not here to stand for your insults!
CARMODY (bewilderingly). Don't be angry, now, at what I said. Sure I'm out of my wits entirely. Eileen to have the consumption! Ah, Doctor, sure you must be mistaken!
GAYNOR. There's no chance for a mistake, I'm sorry to say. Her right lung is badly affected.