CARMODY (_spitting--roughly_). If she is, it's her own fault entirely--weakenin' her health by readin' here in the house. This'll be a lesson for her, and for you, too. (_Irritably._) Put down that book on the table and leave it be. I'll have no more readin' in this house, or I'll take the strap to you! MARY (_laying the book on the table_). It's only pictures. CARMODY. No back talk! Pictures or not, it's all the same mopin' and lazin' in it. (_After a pause--morosely._) It's the bad luck I've been havin' altogether this last year since your mother died. Who's to do the work and look after Nora and Tom and yourself, if Eileen is bad took and has to stay in her bed? I'll have to get Mrs. Brennan come look after the house. That means money, too, and where's it to come from? All that I've saved from slavin' and sweatin' in the sun with a gang of lazy Dagoes'll be up the spout in no time. (_Bitterly._) What a fool a man is to be raisin' a raft of children and him not a millionaire! (_With lugubrious self-pity._) Mary, dear, it's a black curse God put on me when he took your mother just when I needed her most. (Mary _commences to sob._ Carmody _starts and looks at her angrily._) What are you sniffin' at? MARY (_tearfully_). I was thinking--of Mamma. CARMODY (_scornfully_). It's late you are with your tears, and her cold in her grave for a year. Stop it, I'm tellin' you! (Mary _gulps back her sobs._) (_There is a noise of childish laughter and screams from the street in front. The outside door is opened and slammed, footsteps pound along the hall. The door in the rear is pushed open, and_ Nora _and_ Tom _rush in breathlessly._ Nora _is a bright, vivacious, red-haired girl of eleven--pretty after an elfish, mischievous fashion--light-hearted and robust._) (Tom _resembles_ Nora _in disposition and appearance. A healthy, good-humoured youngster with a shock of sandy hair. He is a year younger than_ Nora. _They are followed into the room, a moment later, by their brother_ Billy, _who is evidently loftily disgusted with their antics._ Billy _is a fourteen-year-old replica of his father, whom he imitates even to the hoarse, domineering tone of voice._) CARMODY (_grumpily_). Ah, here you are, the lot of you. Shut that door after you! What's the use in me spendin' money for coal if all you do is to let the cold night in the room itself? NORA (_hopping over to him--teasingly_). Me and Tom had a race, Papa. I beat him. (_She sticks her tongue out at her younger brother._) Slow poke! TOM. You didn't beat me, neither! NORA. I did, too! TOM. You did not! You didn't play fair. You tripped me comin' up the steps. Brick-top! Cheater! NORA (_flaring up_). You're a liar! You stumbled over your own big feet, clumsy bones! And I beat you fair Didn't I, Papa?