MIKE. I don’t know—nothing. The idea occurred to me, that’s all. (Turns l. a little.)
LUKE. Don’t you drink so much and you won’t have so many ideas. (After a pause, during which he seems troubled, shaking it oft with an effort.) Have you got the letters with you? It will look well to take them out casually while talking. (Crosses R.; sits on table.)
MIKE. (Who has crossed to L., taking them out of his breast pocket and holding them in his hand.) Yes, here they are all right. Bah! (With a shudder.) I always see his face when I look on the darned things—I—Mrs. R. (Without, loudly.) Dick Hanningford—Dick Hanningford, my boy! (Mike drops suddenly in sitting posture on sofa L. with a cry “Ah.” Luke works round at back and drops down l.)
(Enter Mrs. R., excitedly, followed at little distance by Allen and Deborah from c. Allen and Deborah remain up. Rachel from door down l.)
MRS. R. (Coming down towards Mike.) What, Dick, my boy, where be thee? (Sees Mike on sofa; making towards him.) Ah, there thee be—I thought I’d know thee again though thee wur only in knickerbockers when I last saw ’ee. Tain’t thy fault thy father wur a bit stingy. Come and gie us a hug, lad. Lord love us—(she is just in font of him, begins to speak in a bewildered, hesitating manner, in tones gradually dying away to an awed whisper, as she slowly step by step backs from him.) How—how you’ve grown—Dick—Dick Hanningford—what—(stands staring at him; a strange awed silence prevails).
DEB. (Advancing in a terrified voice.) Aunt.
MRS. R. (Motioning her back with her arm, but not turning and speaking in a quick, excited, loud tone.) Keep back, child, don’t come near. (Luke is near Mike down c.)
ALLEN. (Springing forward.) Mother! What’s the matter?
MRS. R. (As before.) The man’s dead.
LUKE. (r. stepping forward.) Dead!