PATRICK O’FLAHERTY. NORA O’FLAHERTY, _his wife_. JIMMIE, _his crippled son, aged about eight or ten years_. MISS CARROLL, _the Visiting Nurse_. JOHN BING, _a Policeman_. SCENE: _A small, poor room in a tenement flat. Cook-stove, back; shabby lounge, front; at left, kitchen table with a faded flower in a bottle; a wash-tub on bench, centre left, back near door. At left, door to bedroom. At right, door to hallway._ _When the curtain rises NORA O’FLAHERTY is discovered at the wash-tub. She is a large woman, with a worn, sweet face, across her forehead an ugly red cut. The room is untidy, and so is NORA. The stove is blazing hot. After stirring the clothes in the boiler NORA wipes her face with the back of her hand and sighs wearily as she puts a fresh lot into the tub of suds._ JIMMIE. [_Speaking from bedroom._] Maw, what time is it? NORA. Most tin, Jimmie-boy. JIMMIE. Whin’ll Miss Carroll come? NORA. Well, now, I shouldn’t wonder if she’d be comin’ along the shtreet and oup the shtairs and right in at that door about the time the clock gits ’round to half past tin, or maybe it’s sooner she’ll be. Do you think it’s a flower she’ll be bringin’ today, Jimmie-boy? JIMMIE. To-day’s Tuesday, ain’t it? NORA. Shure! JIMMIE. There’s no tellin’. Sometimes she says there ain’t enough to go ’round. [_A pause._] NORA. [_Sorting out clothes._] Sakes alive—the wash that’s on me! I’ll niver git through. [_A short silence._] JIMMIE. Maw, what time is it now? NORA. Well, I couldn’t rightly say, the steam bein’ in me eyes like. Faith, ye must bear in mind there’s many that’s needin’ her. Maybe at this very minute it’s a new-born baby just come into the world she’s tendin’, or an ould man just goin’ out of it! She’ll be comin’ soon now, I’ll warrant ye. JIMMIE. But, Maw, me leg hurts, and Paw takes all the room in the bed, he’s sleepin’ so noisy! NORA. Och, Jimmie darlin’, have a little patience! Me name’s not Nora O’Flaherty if Miss Carroll don’t bring us a flower this day, or if there ain’t enough to go ’round, shure it’s the bright happy worrd or the little joke or plan she’ll have in her mind for ye ’ull hearten the day as well as a flower. [_Another pause._] JIMMIE. Maw! Ain’t it half past tin yit? NORA. Oh, laddie, an’ I hadn’t the great wash on me hands I’d dance a jig t’ amuse ye! Shure many’s the song I’ve sung an’ the jig I’ve danced whin I was a slip o’ a gurrl back in the ould counthree, afore I had the four of yiz and yer Paw to look afther! Now it’s me arrms have need to move livelier than me legs, I’m thinkin’. Listen, now, an’ I’ll see if I can call to mind a little song for ye. [_Sings, keeping time with the wash-board._]