Capt. H. (A little vacantly). Yes, my only son Harry. (Rouses himself.) Coming home to-morrow.
Bessie (Speaks softly). Sometimes, Captain Hagberd, a hope turns out false.
Capt. H. (Uneasy). What's that got to do with Harry's coming back?
Bessie. It's good to hope for something. But suppose now———-(Feeling her way.) Yours is not the only lost son that's never...
Capt. H. Never what! You don't believe he's drowned. (Crouches, glaring and grasping the rails.)
Bessie (Frightened, drops knitting). Captain Hagberd—don't. (Catches hold of his shoulders over the railings?) Don't—my God! He's going out of his mind! (Cries.) I didn't mean it! I don't know.
Capt. H. (Has backed away. An affected burst of laughter). What nonsense. None of us Hagberds belonged to the sea. All farmers for hundreds of years, (fraternal and cunning?) Don't alarm yourself, my dear. The sea can't get us. Look at me! I didn't get drowned. Moreover, Harry ain't a sailor at all. And if he isn't a sailor, he's bound to come back—to-morrow.
Bessie (Has been facing him; murmurs). No. I give it up. He scares me. (Aloud, sharply.) Then I would give up that advertising in the papers.
Capt. H. (Surprised and puzzled). Why, my dear? Everybody does it. His poor mother and I have been advertising for years and years. But she was an impatient woman. She died.
Bessie. If your son's coming, as—as you say—what's the good of that expense? You had better spend that half-crown on yourself. I believe you don't eat enough.