Oh, Pat, ye will thry and git some worrk today, won’t ye, man? Thry harrd. If they don’t take ye on at the first place, go on an’ don’t git discouraged. Ye know ye’re the grand workman whin ye thry, and ye must git a stiddy job soon. Ye really must, Pat. I’m shtrong; I don’t mind the washin’ fer me own sake. I’d do anythin’ fer you and the childer, but whin Jimmie frets at me to play with him, an’ the others come rushin’ in from school a-wantin’ thur maw to do this and that fer ’em, shure it comes harrd an’ I dassn’t take me arrms from the suds to ’tend on ’em and comfort ’em and cook ’em thur meals nice like that visitin’ housekeepin’ lady told me to. [_PAT has not been listening very attentively, but has taken in the drift of NORA’S plea._] PAT. [_Pulling himself together and putting on hat and coat._] Ah, Nora gurrl, I’ll be gettin’ a good job today shure. [_Suddenly catches sight of her forehead._] Wha’s that on your head? NORA. [_Startled._] Me head, is it? Miss Carroll was sayin’ just now it was “personal violence and breakin’ the law.” I was thinkin’ afore that ’twas only the heel o’ an ould boot walked around daytimes on Pat O’Flaherty, lookin’ for a job. [_PAT regards her uneasily, meditating speech, but appreciates he is too befuddled for argument, so begins to whistle as he gets himself out and down-stairs, leaving the door open. NORA goes to shut it, and stands a moment reflecting, looking after PAT, then returns to the tub near the bedroom door, evidently thinking. Short pause._] JIMMIE. [_Within bedroom._] Say, Miss Carroll, d’ye think I’ll ever git it? MISS CARROLL. Christmas is coming, Jimmie-boy. JIMMIE. Huh! So’s Fourth o’ July. MISS CARROLL. We’ll see what we can do. JIMMIE. The other lady you told about me brung me a suit, but some cove lots bigger ’n me wore it all out first. I don’ like it. Gee! but I wisht I had a bran’-new suit just wanst. [_NORA makes a little yearning gesture towards the room._] MISS CARROLL. Now, Jimmie-boy, come along. It won’t hurt much. When you’re all fixed up on the lounge in there I’ve got something pretty for you. JIMMIE. Another flower? What kind is it? MISS CARROLL. We’ll see. Now lean on me. [_They enter._] NORA. That’s the lad. Are ye all fixed up now? He’s gettin’ lots better, ain’t he, Miss Carroll? [_JIMMIE is a pale, emaciated child with a wan little face of great sweetness of expression. His clothes are much too large for him. He holds up one bandaged leg and hobbles on crutches. MISS CARROLL helps him onto the lounge, produces from a paper by her satchel two pink roses, holding them up._] JIMMIE. Gee! ain’t they pretty! Can I keep ’em both? MISS CARROLL.