er._ Nora _slides down off her perch and disappears,
unnoticed, under the table._)

CARMODY. It's a great wonder you didn't forget it--and me without a
chew. (_He bites off a piece and tucks it into his cheek._)

TOM (_suddenly clutching at his leg with a yell_). Ouch! Darn you! (_He
kicks frantically at something under the table, but_ Nora _scrambles
out at the other end, grinning._)

CARMODY (_angrily_). Shut your big mouth! What is the matter with you
at all?

TOM (_indignantly_). She pinched me--hard as she could, too--and look
at her laughin'!

NORA (_hopping on the table again_). Cry-baby! I owed you one.

TOM. I'll fix you. I'll tell Eileen, wait 'n' see!

NORA. Tattle-tale! I don't care. Eileen's sick.

TOM. That's why you dast do it. You dasn't if she was up. I'll get
even, you bet!

CARMODY (_exasperated_). Shut up your noise! Go up to bed, the two of
you, and no more talk, and you go with them, Mary.

NORA (_giving a quick tug at_ Mary's _hair_). Come on, Mary. Wake up.

MARY. Ow! (_She begins to cry._)

CARMODY (_raising his voice furiously_). Hush your noise, you soft,
weak thing, you! It's nothin' but blubberin' you do be doin' all the
time. (_He stands up threateningly._) I'll have a moment's peace, I
will! Off to bed with you before I get the strap! It's crazy mad you
all get the moment Eileen's away from you. Go on, now! (_They scurry
out of the rear door._) And be quiet or I'll be up to you!

NORA (_sticks her head back in the door_). Can I say good-night to
Eileen, Papa?

CARMODY. No. The doctor's with her yet. (_Then he adds hastily._) Yes,
go in to her, Nora. It'll drive himself out of the house maybe, bad
cess to him, and him stayin' half the night. (Nora _waits to hear no
more but darts back, shutting the door behind her._ Billy _takes the
chair in front of the table._ Carmody _sits down again with a groan._)
The rheumatics are in my leg again. (_Shakes his head._) If Eileen's in
bed long those brats'll have the house down.

BILLY. Eileen ain't sick very bad, is she?

CARMODY (_easily_). It's a cold only she has. (_Then mournfully._) Your
poor mother died of the same. (Billy _looks awed._) Ara, well, it's
God's will, I suppose, but where the money'll come from, I dunno.
(_With a disparaging glance at his son._) They'll not be raisin' your
wages soon, I'll be bound.

BILLY (_surlily_). Naw. The old boss never gives no one a raise, 'less
he has to. He's a tight-wad for fair.