are painted a light brown with white trimmings. In the rear on the
left, a door leading to the sleeping quarters. In the far left corner,
a large locker-closet, painted white, on the door of which a mirror
hangs on a nail. In the rear wall, two small square windows and a door
opening out on the deck toward the stern. In the right wall, two more
windows looking out on the port deck. White curtains, clean and stiff,
are at the windows. A table with two cane-bottomed chairs stands in the
center of the cabin. A dilapidated, wicker rocker, painted brown, is
also by the table.

It is afternoon of a sunny day about a week later. From the harbor and
docks outside, muffled by the closed door and windows, comes the sound
of steamers' whistles and the puffing snort of the donkey engines of
some ship unloading nearby.

As the curtain rises, CHRIS and ANNA are discovered. ANNA is seated in
the rocking-chair by the table, with a newspaper in her hands. She is
not reading but staring straight in front of her. She looks unhappy,
troubled, frowningly concentrated on her thoughts. CHRIS wanders about
the room, casting quick, uneasy side glances at her face, then stopping
to peer absentmindedly out of the window. His attitude betrays an
overwhelming, gloomy anxiety which has him on tenter hooks. He pretends
to be engaged in setting things ship-shape, but this occupation is
confined to picking up some object, staring at it stupidly for a
second, then aimlessly putting it down again. He clears his throat and
starts to sing to himself in a low, doleful voice: "My Yosephine, come
aboard de ship. Long time Ay wait for you."

ANNA--[Turning on him, sarcastically.] I'm glad someone's feeling good.
[Wearily.] Gee, I sure wish we was out of this dump and back in New
York.

CHRIS--[With a sigh.] Ay'm glad vhen ve sail again, too. [Then, as she
makes no comment, he goes on with a ponderous attempt at sarcasm.] Ay
don't see vhy you don't like Boston, dough. You have good time here, Ay
tank. You go ashore all time, every day and night veek ve've been here.
You go to movies, see show, gat all kinds fun--[His eyes hard with
hatred.] All with that damn Irish fallar!

ANNA--[With weary scorn.] Oh, for heaven's sake, are you off on that
again? Where's the harm in his taking me around? D'you want me to sit
all day and night in this cabin with you--and knit? Ain't I got a right
to have as good a time as I can?

CHRIS--It ain't right kind of fun--not