Darrell
[Mockingly]
Probably! It runs in my family! All of my father’s people were happy lunatics—not healthy, country folk like yours, Sam! Ha!
Evans
[Staring at him]
Ned, old man, what’s the trouble? You said “Navy.”
Darrell
[Ironically—with a bitter hopeless laugh]
Slip of the tongue! I meant Gordon! Meant Gordon, of course! Gordon is always meant—meant to win! Come on, Gordon! It’s fate!
Madeline
Here they come! They’re both spurting! I can see Gordon’s back!
Evans
[Forgetting everything else, turns back to the race]
Come on, boy! Come on, son!
[The chorus of noise is now a bedlam as the crews near the finish line. The people have to yell and scream to make themselves heard]
Nina
[Getting up—thinking with a strange, strident, wild passion]
I hear the Father laughing! . . . O Mother God, protect my son! . . . let Gordon fly to you in heaven! . . . quick, Gordon! . . . love is the Father’s lightning! . . . Made-
