Andrew—[Soothingly—again putting his hands on his brother’s shoulder.] It’s no use fussing any more, Rob. It’s done. [Affectionately.] You’ll forget anything I said to hurt when I was mad, won’t you? I wanted to keep you out of it.
Robert—Oh, Andy, it’s me who ought to be asking your forgiveness for the suffering I’ve brought on you.
Andrew—[Forcing a smile] I guess Ruth’s got a right to have who she likes; you ain’t to blame for that. She made a good choice—and God bless her for it!
Robert—Andy! Oh, I wish I could tell you half I feel of how fine you are!
Andrew—[Interrupting him quickly.] Shut up! Let’s go to bed. We’ve talked long enough, and I’ve got to be up long before sun-up. You, too, if you’re going to drive us down.
Robert—Yes. Yes.
Andrew—[Turning down the lamp.] And I’ve got to pack yet. [He yawns with utter weariness.] I’m as tired as if I’d been plowing twenty-four hours at a stretch. [Dully.] I feel—dead. [Robert covers his face again with his hands. Andrew shakes his head as if to get rid of his thoughts, and continues with a poor attempt at cheery briskness.] I’m going to douse the light. Come on. [He slaps his brother on the back. Robert docs not move. Andrew bends over and blows out the lamp. His voice comes from the darkness.] Don’t sit there mourn-
