"There's father; I brought him home."
The woman uttered a little cry and bent over the prostrate figure.
"Ah," she muttered. Then, glancing back over her rounded shoulder, she asked: "Where you git heem?"
"Down town," the boy replied, quietly.
"So." And the woman sat down again, and as long as her son was with her she kept her eyes upon him, oblivious, seemingly, of the unfeeling body on the couch.
"Ven you come in?" she asked.
"This morning," he replied. "I played football to-day."
"Och, yes," she murmured, nodding. "I heard dee noise. Yes."
There ensued a moment's silence that was complete, save for the heavy breathing of the sleeper on the couch.
"Chon," the woman said, calmly, "you don't do dat?" And she indicated with a gesture the prone shape on the lounge.