SCENE
A corner in the Hall of Paleontology of a Public Museum; late one afternoon.
JIM’S BEAST[B]
Two arched passageways are in back, and between them, on the wall, is a large dark plaster cast which may be a replica of the famous Dinosaur footprints in Brownstone. Beneath this is a low bench. At the extreme right, as one enters from back, there are two cases, just visible, in which are fossil bones and casts. There is a bench near them and an aisle between which leads off to the windows beyond, suggested by the soft streams of sunlight which shoot over the tops of the cases to the Brontosaurus opposite. Only the dull-colored flat skull and a portion of the neck of this venerable fossil are to be seen, projecting about a yard or two. It stands seven feet above its low platform, which is surrounded by a railing. On this is a slanted sign which describes it. Its size, its grimness and the light which rests upon it make it dominate everything. The remainder of the huge dinosaur is masked by a high screen at its left, upon which hangs a map indicating by its varied horizontal shades of color, the various geological strata and periods.
When the curtain slowly lifts, Sarah, a scrubwoman, is on her knees, mopping the floor with long practised sweeps.
She is fifty, heavy, with a dull tired face lined by years of physical toil. Though her hair is tightly drawn back and tied in a knot, several long wisps fall across her eyes as she leans forward over her work; and she continually pushes these back with her arm, since her hands are wet and soapy.
As she wrings her rag savagely she mumbles to herself in a rich Irish brogue.
Sarah
Scrub. Mop. Scrub. (She looks up at the Brontosaurus.) Keepin’ watch on me, too, ye dirty heathen. Grinnin’ there every day at me a-scrubbin’ and moppin’.