Enter Mike, L., carrying big tin tea-pot full of hot tea.
Mike. Begorrah, it was lucky I was carryin’ the tay pot or there’d been a Noah’s flood o’ tay.
Norah. Must I get more crame, Docthor?
Mike. It’s aisy to pick that up with a spoon.
Mrs. F. and Miss S. appear timidly at door, L.
Dr. F. Bother the cream. It’s the tea I want. Put the things on the table. Now I’ll get him to come out.
Mrs. F. Henry, do you think he’ll hurt you?
Miss S. The idea! Poor abused thing!
Dr. F. Clear out, you women. Do you want to frighten him? (Exeunt Mrs. F. and Miss S.) Mike, go in the operating room to be ready for emergencies. (Mike enters D. F. and peeps out from time to time, as do the two ladies, L.) Norah, you be ready to serve the tea. I’ll drink some to make believe. Be cool, don’t lose your head.
Norah. (Arranging tea things.) Yis, sor, but I can’t guarantee to kape me head if that ould cyclone blows in again.