(A Polak woman is seen standing in the doorway, right.)

Woman.  Doctor!

Dr. Jonathan.  Yes.

Woman.  My baby is seek—­I think maybe you come and see him.  Mrs. Ladislaw she tell me you cure her little boy, and that maybe you come, if I ask you.

Dr. Jonathan.  Yes, I’ll come.  What is your name?

Woman.  Sasenoshky.

Dr. Jonathan.  Your husband is in the shops?

Woman.  He was, doctor.  Now he is in the American army.

Dr. Jonathan.  Sasenoshky—­in the American army.

Woman (proudly).  Yes, he is good American now,—­he fight to make them free in the old country, too.

Dr. Jonathan.  Well, we’ll have a look at the baby.  He may be in the
White House some day—­President Sasenoshky!  I’ll be back, Asher.

   (The noon whistle blows.)

Asher.  That’s the signal!  I’ll get along, too.

Dr. Jonathan.  Where are you going?

Asher.  I guess it doesn’t make much difference where I go.

(He walks out, followed by Dr. Jonathan and the woman.  The room is empty for a moment, and then Minnie Farrell enters through the opposite door, left, from Dr. Jonathan’s office.  She gazes around the room, and then goes resolutely to the bench and takes up several test tubes in turn, holding theme to the light.  Suddenly her eye falls on George’s letter, which Asher has left open on the bench with the envelope beside it.  Minnie Slowly reaches out and picks it up, and then holds it to her lips . . .  She still has the letter in her hand, gazing at it, when Augusta pindar enters, right.)

Augusta.  Oh, I thought Mr. Pindar was here!

Minnie.  Perhaps he’s been here—­I don’t know.  I just came in. (She hesitates a second, then goes to the bench and lays the letter down.)

Augusta.  He must have been here,—­he told me he was coming to talk with
Dr. Pindar.

   (She approaches the bench and glances at the letter.)

Isn’t that a letter from my son?

Minnie (a little defiantly, yet almost in tears).  I guess it is.

Augusta.  It was written to you?

Minnie.  No.

Augusta.  Then what were you doing with it?

Minnie.  I just—­picked it up.  You think I was reading it?  Well, I wouldn’t.

Augusta.  Then how did you know it was written by my son?

   (Minnie is silent.)

You must be familiar with his handwriting.  I think I’d better take it. 
(She folds it up and puts it in the envelope.) Does George write to you?

Minnie.  I’ve had letters from him.