Pa. There's lots in the well this spring.
[A pause. Seth continues his scrutiny of the lock.]
Pa. My throat's burnin' up.
Seth. Well, maybe I kin find a drop. [Puts the box on the shelf and re-covers it; in doing so makes a slight noise.]
Pa. What's that noise?
Seth. I'm gettin' yuh a drink!
[Seth strolls to the stove, lifts the top from the kettle, and looks inside. He finds a tin cup and fills it with water. Looking into the kettle again, he sees there is little water left. Why make a trip to the pump necessary? Back into the kettle goes some of the water. Cup in hand, he moves toward the bedroom. He reaches the door when a sagging bellied man enters from the yard. It is Lon, the elder, shorter brother. His face has become molded into an expressionless stare, and his every movement seems to be made with an effort. An abused man, Lon, the most ill-treated fellow in the world. At least, so he is ever at pains to have all understand. He wears an old felt hat, cotton shirt, badly patched trousers, suspenders attached to the buttons of his trousers with string, and shoes that are almost soleless. His shirt, stained with sweat, is opened at the throat, revealing red flannel underwear. When Seth sees Lon he immediately closes the bedroom door, silently turns the key in the lock, and puts the key in his pocket. For a moment the men stand looking at each other, reminding one of two roosters. Then Seth strolls to the stove, pours the water into the kettle, and planks himself down in the rocker. Lon glances once or twice at the bedroom door, but moves not to it. He watches Seth suspiciously. Finally he speaks.]
Lon [in an expressionless drawl]. I hear Pa's dyin'.
Seth. Yuh hear right.
Lon [with a motion of his head toward the bedroom]. Is he in there?