ANNA--[After a pause--dreamily.] Funny! I do feel sort of--nutty, to-night. I feel old. CHRIS--[Mystified. ] Old? ANNA--Sure--like I'd been living a long, long time--out here in the fog. [Frowning perplexedly.] I don't know how to tell you yust what I mean. It's like I'd come home after a long visit away some place. It all seems like I'd been here before lots of times--on boats--in this same fog. [With a short laugh.] You must think I'm off my base. CHRIS--[Gruffly.] Anybody feel funny dat vay in fog. ANNA--[Persistently.] But why d'you s'pose I feel so--so--like I'd found something I'd missed and been looking for--'s if this was the right place for me to fit in? And I seem to have forgot--everything that's happened--like it didn't matter no more. And I feel clean, somehow--like you feel yust after you've took a bath. And I feel happy for once--yes, honest!--happier than I ever been anywhere before! [As CHRIS makes no comment but a heavy sigh, she continues wonderingly.] It's nutty for me to feel that way, don't you think? CHRIS--[A grim foreboding in his voice.] Ay tank Ay'm damn fool for bring you on voyage, Anna. ANNA--[Impressed by his tone.] You talk--nutty to-night yourself. You act's if you was scared something was going to happen. CHRIS--Only God know dat, Anna. ANNA--[Half-mockingly.] Then it'll be Gawd's will, like the preachers say-what does happen. CHRIS--[Starts to his feet with fierce protest.] No! Dat ole davil, sea, she ain't God! [In the pause of silence that comes after his defiance a hail in a man's husky, exhausted voice comes faintly out of the fog to port.] "Ahoy!" [CHRIS gives a startled exclamation.] ANNA--[Jumping to her feet.] What's that? CHRIS--[Who has regained his composure--sheepishly.] Py golly, dat scare me for minute. It's only some fallar hail, Anna--loose his course in fog. Must be fisherman's power boat. His engine break down, Ay guess. [The "ahoy" comes again through the wall of fog, sounding much nearer this time. CHRIS goes over to the port bulwark.] Sound from dis side. She come in from open sea. [He holds his hands to his mouth, megaphone-fashion, and shouts back.] Ahoy, dere! Vhat's trouble? THE VOICE--[This time sounding nearer but up forward toward the bow.] Heave a rope when we come alongside. [Then irritably.] Where are ye, ye scut? CHRIS--Ay hear dem rowing. Dey come up by bow, Ay tank. [Then shouting out again.] Dis vay! THE VOICE--Right ye are! [There is a muffled sound of oars in oar-locks.] ANNA--[Half to herself--resentfully.] Why don't that guy stay where he belongs?