MRS. LOVING (_Smiling_): Well, I for one, Son, am not going to say anything to make you more conceited.
TOM: You don’t _have_ to say anything. Why, Ma, ever since I told you, you can almost look down your own back your head is so high. What? (_Mrs. Loving laughs. The outer door of the flat opens and shuts. Rachel’s voice is heard_).
RACHEL (_Without_): My! that was a “drefful” climb, wasn’t it? Ma, I’ve got something here for you. (_Appears in the doorway carrying packages and leading a little boy by the hand. The little fellow is shy but smiling_). Hello, Tommy! Here, take these things for me. This is Jimmy. Isn’t he a dear? Come, Jimmy. (_Tom carries the packages into the kitchenette. Rachel leads Jimmy to Mrs. Loving_). Ma dear, this is my brown baby. I’m going to take him right down stairs again. His mother is as sweet as can be, and let me bring him up just to see you. Jimmy, this is Ma dear. (_Mrs. Loving turns expectantly to see the child. Standing before her, he raises his face to hers with an engaging smile. Suddenly, without word or warning, her body stiffens; her hands grip her sewing convulsively; her eyes stare. She makes no sound_).
RACHEL (_Frightened_): Ma dear! What is the matter? Tom! Quick! (_Tom reenters and goes to them_).
MRS. LOVING (_Controlling herself with an effort and breathing hard_): Nothing, dears, nothing. I must be--I am--nervous tonight. (_With a forced smile_) How do-you-do, Jimmy? Now, Rachel--perhaps--don’t you think--you had better take him back to his mother? Good-night, Jimmy! (_Eyes the child in a fascinated way the whole time he is in the room. Rachel, very much perturbed, takes the child out_). Tom, open that window, please! There! That’s better! (_Still breathing deeply_). What a fool I am!
TOM (_Patting his mother awkwardly on the back_): You’re all pegged out, that’s the trouble--working entirely too hard. Can’t you stop for the night and go to bed right after supper?
MRS. LOVING: I’ll see, Tommy dear. Now, I must look after the supper.
Tom: Huh! Well, I guess not. How old do you think Rachel and I are anyway? I see; you think we’ll break some of this be-au-tiful Hav-i-land china, we bought at the “Five and Ten Cent Store.” (_To Rachel who has just reentered wearing a puzzled and worried expression. She is without hat and coat_). Say, Rachel, do you think you’re old enough?