GEORGE. You mean—
(GEORGE is interrupted by the entrance, lower right, of his mother,
AUGUSTA PINDAR. She is now in the fifties, and her hair is turning
grey. Her uneventful, provincial existence as ASHER'S wife has
confirmed and crystallized her traditional New England views, her
conviction that her mission is to direct for good the lives of the
less fortunate by whom she is surrounded. She carries her knitting
in her hand,—a pair of socks for GEORGE. And she goes at once to
DR. JONATHAN.)
AUGUSTA. So you are Jonathan. They told me you'd arrived—why didn't you come to us? Do you think it's wise to live in that old house of your father's before it's been thoroughly heated for a few days?
DR. JONATHAN (taking her hand). Oh, I'm going to live with the doors and windows open.
AUGUSTA. Dear me! I understand you've been quite ill, and you were never very strong as a child. I made it my business to go through the house yesterday, and I must say it looks comfortable. But the carpenters and plumbers have ruined the parlour, with that bench, and the sink in the corner. What are you going to do there?
DR. JONATHAN. I'm having it made into a sort of laboratory.
AUGUSTA. You don't mean to say you intend to do any work!
DR. JONATHAN. Work ought to cure me, in this climate.
AUGUSTA. You mean to practise medicine? You ought to have consulted us. I'm afraid you won't find it remunerative, Jonathan,—but your father was impractical, too. Foxon Falls is still a small place, in spite of the fact that the shops have grown. Workmen's families can't afford to pay big fees, you know.
DR. JONATHAN (smiling). I know.