his head and advances threateningly on Andrew.] You damned whelp!
Mrs. Mayo—[With a shriek.] James! [She covers her face with her hands and sinks weakly into Mayo’s chair. Andrew remains standing motionless, his face pale and set.]
Scott—[Starting to his feet and stretching his arms across the table toward Mayo.] Easy there, Jim!
Robert—[Throwing himself between father and brother.] Stop! Are you mad?
Mayo—[Grabs Robert’s arm and pushes him aside—then stands for a moment gasping for breath before Andrew. He points to the door with a shaking finger.] Yes—go!—go!—You’re no son o’ mine—no son o’ mine! You can go to hell if you want to! Don’t let me find you here in the mornin’—or—or—I’ll throw you out!
Robert—Pa! For God’s sake!
[Mrs. Mayo bursts into noisy sobbing.]
Scott—[Placatingly.] Ain’t you goin’ too far, Jim?
Mayo—[Turning on him furiously.] Shut up, you—you Dick! It’s your fault—a lot o’ this—you and your cussed ship! Don’t you take him—if you do—don’t you dare darken this door again. Let him go by himself and learn to starve—starve! [He gulps convulsively and turns again to Andrew.] And you go—tomorrow mornin’—and by God—don’t come back—don’t dare come back—by God, not while
