Yokohama first, and that’s a long voyage on a sailing ship; and if we go to any of the other places Uncle Dick mentions—India, or Australia, or South Africa, or South America—they’ll be long voyages, too.
Andrew—You can have all those foreign parts for all of me. A trip to the port once in a while, or maybe down to New York a couple of times a year—that’s all the travel I’m hankering after. [He looks down the road to the right.] Here comes Pa. [The noise of a team of horses coming slowly down the road is heard, and a man’s voice urging them on. A moment later James Mayo enters, driving the two weary horses which have been unhitched from the plow. He is his son Andrew over again in body and face—an Andrew sixty-five years old, with a short, square, white beard. He is dressed much the same as Andrew.]
Mayo—[Checking his horses when he sees his sons.] Whoa there! Hello boys! What are you two doin’ there roostin’ on the fence like a pair of hens?
Robert—[Laughing.] Oh, just talking things over. Pa.
Andrew—[With a sly wink.] Rob’s trying to get me into reading poetry. He thinks my education’s been neglected.
Mayo—[Chuckling.] That’s good! You kin go out and sing it to the stock at nights to put ’em to sleep. What’s that he’s got there—’nother book? Good Lord, I thought you’d read every book there was
