Harry (crosses l.). Why, Tom, don't you go in?
Tom. Certainly. Come, Hanks. (Goes over to Hanks.) They'll want your music in there, and I'm just in tune to play second fiddle. (They exeunt r., arm in arm.)
Harry (goes to bench l., and washes hands). Now, Mr. Thornton, for a wash, and then we'll join them. (Thornton keeps his seat in a thoughtful attitude. Harry comes down.) Hallo! what's the matter? Homesick?
Thornton (laughs). Not exactly; but there's something in this old barn, these merry huskers, this careless happy life you farmers lead, has stirred up old memories, until I was on the point of breaking out with that melancholy song, "Oh, would I were a boy again!"
Harry. Now, don't be melancholy. That won't chime with the dear old place; for, though it has not been free from trouble, we drive all care away with willing hands and cheerful hearts.
Thornton. It is a cheery old place, and so reminds me of one I knew when I was young; for, like you, I was a farmer's boy.
Harry. Indeed! you never told me that.
Thornton. No: for 'tis no fond recollection to me, and I seldom refer to it. I did not take kindly to it, so early forsook a country life for the stir and bustle of crowded cities. But, when one has reached the age of forty, 'tis time to look back.
Harry. Not with regret, I trust: for you tell me you have acquired wealth in mercantile pursuits, and so pictured the busy life of the city, that I am impatient to carve my fortune there.
Thornton. And you are right. The strong-armed, clear-brained wanderers from the country carry off the grand prizes there. You are ambitious: you shall rise; and, when you are forty, revisit these scenes, a man of wealth and influence.