JAMES MAYO, _his wife, her brother_, CAPTAIN DICK SCOTT, _and_ ANDREW _are discovered_. MAYO _is his son_ ANDREW _over again in body and face--an_ ANDREW _sixty-five years old with a short, square, white beard_. MRS. MAYO _is a slight, round-faced, rather prim-looking woman of fifty-five who had once been a school teacher. The labors of a farmer’s wife have bent but not broken her, and she retains a certain refinement of movement and expression foreign to the_ MAYO _part of the family. Whatever of resemblance_ ROBERT _has to his parents may be traced to her. Her brother, the_ CAPTAIN, _is short and stocky, with a weather-beaten, jovial face and a white mustache--a typical old salt, loud of voice and given to gesture. He is fifty-eight years old._ JAMES MAYO _sits in front of the table. He wears spectacles, and a farm journal which he has been reading lies in his lap._ THE CAPTAIN _leans forward from a chair in the rear, his hands on the table in front of him_. ANDREW _is tilted back on the straight-backed chair to the left, his chin sank forward on his chest, staring at the carpet, preoccupied and frowning_. _As the Curtain rises the_ CAPTAIN _is just finishing the relation of some sea episode. The others are pretending an interest which is belied by the absent-minded expressions on their faces._ THE CAPTAIN. (_chuckling_) And that mission woman, she hails me on the dock as I was acomin’ ashore, and she says--with her silly face all screwed up serious as judgment--“Captain,” she says, “would you be so kind as to tell me where the sea-gulls sleeps at nights?” Blow me if them warn’t her exact words! (_He slaps the table with the palm of his hands and laughs loudly. The others force smiles_) Ain’t that just like a fool woman’s question? And I looks at her serious as I could, “Ma’m,” says I, “I couldn’t rightly answer that question. I ain’t never seed a sea-gull in his bunk yet. The next time I hears one snorin’,” I says, “I’ll make a note of where he’s turned in, and write you a letter ’bout it.” And then she calls me a fool real spiteful and tacks away from me quick. (_He laughs again uproariously_) So I got rid of her that way. (_The others smile but immediately relapse into expressions of gloom again_). MRS. MAYO. (_absent-mindedly--feeling that she has to say something_) But when it comes to that, where _do_ sea-gulls sleep, Dick? SCOTT. (_slapping the table_) Ho! Ho! Listen to her, James. ’Nother one! Well, if that don’t beat all hell--’scuse me for cussin’, Kate. MAYO. (_with a twinkle in his eyes_) They unhitch their wings, Katey, and spreads ’em out on a wave for a bed. SCOTT. And then they tells the fish to whistle to ’em when it’s time to turn out. Ho! Ho! MRS. MAYO. (_with a forced smile_) You men folks are too smart to live, aren’t you? (_She resumes her knitting_. MAYO _pretends to read his paper_; ANDREW _stares at the floor_).