Harry (Strolls down). He has taken an everlasting jamming hitch round the whole business. (Vexed.) Cast it loose who may. (Contemptuous exclamation.) To-morrow. Pooh! It'll be just another mad today.
Bessie. It's the brooding over his hope that's done it. People teased him so. It's his fondness for you that's troubled his mind.
Harry. Aye. A confounded shovel on the head. The old man had always a queer way of showing his fondness for me.
Bessie. A hopeful, troubled, expecting old man—left alone—all alone.
Harry (Lower tone). Did he ever tell you what mother died of?
Bessie. Yes. (A little bitter.) From impatience.
Harry (Makes a gesture with his arm; speaks vaguely but with feeling). I believe you have been very good to my old man....
Bessie (Tentative). Wouldn't you try to be a son to him?
Harry (Angrily). No contradicting; is that it? You seem to know my dad pretty well. And so do I. He's dead nuts on having his own way—and I've been used to have my own too long. It's the deuce of a fix.
Bessie. How could it hurt you not to contradict him for a while—and perhaps in time you would get used. ..