Keeney [sternly]. Woman, you ain't adoin' right when you meddle in men's business and weaken 'em. You can't know my feelin's. I got to prove a man to be a good husband for ye to take pride in. I got to git the ile, I tell ye.
Mrs. Keeney [supplicatingly]. David! Aren't you going home?
Keeney [ignoring this question—commandingly]. You ain't well. Go and lay down a mite. [He starts for the door.] I got to git on deck.
[He goes out. She cries after him in anguish, "David!" A pause. She passes her hand across her eyes—then commences to laugh hysterically and goes to the organ. She sits down and starts to play wildly an old hymn, "There is rest for the weary." Keeney reënters from the doorway to the deck and stands looking at her angrily. He comes over and grabs her roughly by the shoulder.]
Keeney. Woman, what foolish mockin' is this? [She laughs wildly and he starts back from her in alarm.] Annie! What is it? [She doesn't answer him. Keeney's voice trembles.] Don't you know me, Annie?
[He puts both hands on her shoulders and turns her around so that he can look into her eyes. She stares up at him with a stupid expression, a vague smile on her lips. He stumbles away from her, and she commences softly to play the organ again.]
Keeney [swallowing hard—in a hoarse whisper, as if he had difficulty in speaking]. You said—you was agoin' mad—God!
[A long wail is heard from the deck above, "Ah, bl-o-o-o-ow!" A moment later the Mate's face appears through the skylight. He cannot see Mrs. Keeney.]
Mate [in great excitement]. Whales, sir—a whole school of 'em—off the star-b'd quarter 'bout five miles away—big ones!
Keeney [galvanized into action]. Are you lowerin' the boats?