uh lousey, stinkin', yellow mut of a Catholic-moiderin' bastard!
Come down and I'll moider yuh! Pullin' dat whistle on me, huh? I'll
show yuh! I'll crash yer skull in! I'll drive yer teet' down yer troat!
I'll slam yer nose trou de back of yer head! I'll cut yer guts out for
a nickel, yuh lousey boob, yuh dirty, crummy, muck-eatin' son of a--

[_Suddenly he becomes conscious of all the other men staring at
something directly behind his back. He whirls defensively with a
snarling, murderous growl, crouching to spring, his lips drawn back
o'ver his teeth, his small eyes gleaming ferociously. He sees Mildred,
like a white apparition in the full light from the open furnace doors.
He glares into her eyes, turned to stone. As for her, during his speech
she has listened, paralyzed with horror, terror, her whole personality
crushed, beaten in, collapsed, by the terrific impact of this unknown,
abysmal brutality, naked and shameless. As she looks at his gorilla
face, as his eyes bore into hers, she utters a low, choking cry and
shrinks away from him, putting both hands up before her eyes to shut
out the sight of his face, to protect her own. This startles Yank to a
reaction. His mouth falls open, his eyes grow bewildered._]

MILDRED--[_About to faint--to the Engineers, who now have her one by
each arm--whimperingly._] Take me away! Oh, the filthy beast! [_She
faints. They carry her quickly back, disappearing in the darkness at
the left, rear. An iron door clangs shut. Rage and bewildered fury rush
back on Yank. He feels himself insulted in some unknown fashion in the
very heart of his pride. He roars:_] God damn yuh! [_And hurls his
shovel after them at the door which has just closed. It hits the steel
bulkhead with a clang and falls clattering on the steel floor. From
overhead the whistle sounds again in a long, angry, insistent command._]

[_Curtain_]

SCENE IV

SCENE--The firemen's forecastle. Yank's watch has just come off duty
and had dinner. Their faces and bodies shine from a soap and water
scrubbing but around their eyes, where a hasty dousing does not touch,
the coal dust sticks like black make-up, giving them a queer, sinister
expression. Yank has not washed either face or body. He stands out in
contrast to them, a blackened, brooding figure. He is seated forward on
a bench in the exact attitude of Rodin's "The Thinker." The others,
most of them smoking pipes, are staring at Yank half-apprehensively, as
if