the Warner cottage. At right, toward
rear, entrance from down-stairs. A rude partition, left, with door
in centre. Window centre rear. Large kitchen table loaded with
apparatus. Shelves, similarly loaded, against wall near table, right.
Wires strung about. A rude couch, bench, and several wooden chairs._

_Time, about 8 p.m. Lamp burns on table._ MRS. WARNER _comes
up-stairs, puts her head inside the room nervously, then enters and
looks about._

_Mrs. W._

Such a mess! And the doctors will be here in half an hour! (_Tries to
get busy but seems bothered. Crosses to table and looks at a little
machine that stands upon it._) _That's_ what's driving my boy crazy! If
I only dared to smash it! The right sort of a mother would do just that!
(_Looks at machine with dire meditation._)

_Warner_ (_without, roaring up the stairs_)

Mary Ann!

_Mrs. W._ (_jumps_)

Yes, Hiram!

_Warner_ (_entering_)

Where's Philo?

_Mrs. W._

In the orchard. I watched my chance, and thought I'd redd up a little.
He won't let me touch anything when he's here.

_Warner_

Just about lives up here, don't he?

_Mrs. W._

Day and night now, since he's been too sick to go to the store. And
I can't have Dr. Bellows bring in that specialist from New York with
things lookin' as if a woman had never come up the stairs. (_Dusting
and rattling._)

_Warner_

Philo's not onto what the doctors are after, is he?

_Mrs. W._

He thinks they're coming to look at his machine mostly--and see what's
keepin' him awake nights. But maybe he knows. He's awful sharp.

_Warner_

Sharp? Wish he knew enough to sell eggs and bacon. He's ruinin' my
business. Weighs a pound of coffee as if he was asleep. I can see
customers watchin' him out o' the tail o' their eye. They're gettin'
_afraid_ of him! Mary Ann, the boy's going to be a shame to us. He's
crazy!

_Mrs. W._

Don't you call _my_ boy crazy. I won't hear it, Hiram.

_Warner_

No, you'll wait till the whole village tells you! They're all talkin'
now!

_Mrs. W._

It's none o' their business!

_Warner_

It'll be their business if he flies up and hurts somebody.

_Mrs. W._

Philo wouldn't hurt anything alive. He got mad at me once for killin'
a spider.

_Warner_ (_scornfully_)

Showed his sense there, didn't he?

_Mrs. W._

If Philo's queer it's not from my side of the house. You know what your
mother was like--wanderin' round nights starin' at