CARMODY (_still scanning him with contempt_). Five dollars a week--for
a strappin' lad the like of you! It's shamed you should be to own up to
it. A divil of a lot of good it was for me to go against Eileen's wish
and let you leave off your schoolin' this year like you wanted,
thinkin' the money you'd earn at work would help with the house.

BILLY. Aw, goin' to school didn't do me no good. The teachers was all
down on me. I couldn't learn nothin' there.

CARMODY (_disgustedly_). Nor any other place, I'm thinkin', you're that
thick, (_There is a noise from the stairs in the hall._) Whisht! It's
the doctor comin' down from Eileen. What'll he say, I wonder? (_The
door in the rear is opened and_ Doctor Gaynor _enters. He is a stout,
bald, middle-aged man, forceful of speech, who in the case of patients
of the Carmodys' class dictates rather than advises._ Carmody _adopts a
whining tone._) Aw, Doctor, and how's Eileen now? Have you got her
cured of the weakness?

GAYNOR (_does not answer this but comes forward into the room holding
out two slips of paper--dictatorially_). Here are two prescriptions
that'll have to be filled immediately.

CARMODY (_frowning_). You take them, Billy, and run round to the drug
store. (Gaynor _hands them to_ Billy.)

BILLY. Give me the money, then.

CARMODY (_reaches down into his trousers pocket with a sigh_). How much
will they come to, Doctor?

GAYNOR. About a dollar, I guess.

CARMODY (_protestingly_). A dollar! Sure it's expensive medicines
you're givin' her for a bit of a cold. (_He meets the doctor's cold
glance of contempt and he wilts--grumblingly, as he peels a dollar bill
off a small roll and gives it to_ Billy.) Bring back the change--if
there is any. And none of your tricks, for I'll stop at the drug store
myself to-morrow and ask the man how much it was.

BILLY. Aw, what do you think I am? (_He takes the money and goes out._)

CARMODY (_grudgingly_). Take a chair, Doctor, and tell me what's wrong
with Eileen.

GAYNOR (_seating himself by the table--gravely_). Your daughter is very
seriously ill.

CARMODY (_irritably_). Aw, Doctor, didn't I know you'd be sayin' that,
anyway!

GAYNOR (_ignoring this remark--coldly_). Your daughter has tuberculosis
of the lungs.

CARMODY (_with puzzled awe_). Too-ber-c'losis?

GAYNOR. Consumption, if that makes it plainer to you.

CARMODY (_with dazed terror--after a pause_). Consumption? Eileen?
(_With sudden anger._) What lie is