MRS. FENNESSEY
When are you going to get up?

PATCHA
Why?

MRS. FENNESSEY
I want to say a few words to you.

PATCHA
I’m not feelin’ too well, at all, to-day, and don’t
know when I’ll be able to get up, ma’am.

MRS. FENNESSEY
Don’t you, indeed?

PATCHA
No, I don’t, ma’am.

MRS. FENNESSEY
Well then, if you’re in bed and covered up, may I
come in?

PATCHA (draws the clothes about him)
You can, ma’am.

MRS. FENNESSEY (enters, stands in front of the bed and looks at Patcha) And might I ask what’s the matter with you?

PATCHA Oh, I don’t exactly know, at all.  I have a queer shaky feelin’ runnin’ down the spine and all over me.  It must be the ’fluenza or maybe appendicitis, I’m thinkin’.

MRS. FENNESSEY Well, if that’s the case, you’ll get up this very instant and clear out of my house, for I don’t want a sick man on my hands.  And you that didn’t pay me a farthin’ of rent for this last six weeks.

PATCHA Didn’t I promise to pay you a week over and above when I’d get a job?  And this is the gratitute you’re showin’ me now for my kindness.

MRS. FENNESSEY
What a lot of good your promises would do for any
one.  I want my rent, and you can keep your promises.

PATCHA Is it the way you’d be after turnin’ a sick man from your door a cold freezin’ day like this?  And the snow thirty inches thick on the Galtee Mountains, and the air itself nearly frozen hard.

MRS. FENNESSEY ’Tis you’re the nice sick man, indeed, with muscles on you like a statue or a prize fighter, and an appetite like an elephant.  God knows then, you should be ashamed of yourself for nearly eating me out of house and home, and I a poor widow dependin’ on the likes of you for a livin.’  ’Tis I that wouldn’t like to be the mother of a man such as yourself, God forgive you!

PATCHA I’m surprised at a dacent woman like you, Mrs. Fennessey, to stand there abusin’ me for my misfortune instead of bringin’ me up a good warm breakfast to nourish my wastin’ frame, and encourage the good spirits to come back to my heart.

MRS. FENNESSEY I’m sick and tired of listenin’ to you and your excuses, but I’m not goin’ to listen to them any longer.  So pack up and get out, or if you don’t I’ll get my brother Mike to fling you out, and believe me he won’t take long to do it, either.

PATCHA
You’re losin’ all your dacency, Mrs. Fennessey.

MRS. FENNESSEY Thank God for it, if I am then!  But I’m gettin’ back my good sense, and I won’t talk or argue any more with you.

PATCHA
You should feel ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Fennessey.

MRS. FENNESSEY Indeed then, I should, for puttin’ up with the likes of you.  You’ve got to be out of this house before twelve o’clock to-morrow and remember I mean what I say.

[She walks out and slams the door.  Patcha sits up in bed, rearranges the bedclothes, then places his hand under his chin, and wrinkles his brow.  Remains that way until he is disturbed by a knock at the door