Joe OK. Get going. Don’t load that gun. Just buy it and bring it here.

Tom (going) You won’t catch me loading any gun.

Joe Wait a minute. Take these toys away.

Tom Where’ll I take them?

Joe Give them to some kid. (Pause.) No. Take them up to Kitty. Toys stopped me from crying once. That’s the reason I had you buy them. I wanted to see if I could find out why they stopped me from crying. I remember they seemed awfully stupid at the time.

Tom Shall I, Joe? Take them up to Kitty? Do you think they’d stop her from crying?

Joe They might. You get curious about the way they work and you forget whatever it is you’re remembering that’s making you cry. That’s what they’re for.

Tom Yeah. Sure. The girl at the store asked me what I wanted with toys. I’ll take them up to Kitty. (Tragically.) She’s like a little girl. (He goes.)

Wesley Mr Nick, can I play the piano again?

Nick Sure. Practise all you like – until I tell you to stop.

Wesley You going to pay me for playing the piano?

Nick Sure. I’ll give you enough to get by on.

Wesley (amazed and delighted) Get money for playing the piano?

He goes to the piano and begins to play quietly. Harry goes up on the little stage and listens to the music. After a while he begins a soft-shoe dance.

Nick What were you crying about?

Joe My mother.

Nick What about her?

Joe She was dead. I stopped crying when they gave me the toys.

Nick’s mother, a little old woman of sixty or so, dressed plainly in black, her face shining, comes in briskly, chattering loudly in Italian, gesturing. Nick is delighted to see her.

Ma (in Italian) Everything all right, Nickie?

Nick (in Italian) Sure, Mamma.

Ma leaves as gaily and as noisily as she came, after half a minute of loud Italian family talk.

Joe Who was that?

Nick (to Joe, proudly and a little sadly) My mother. (Still looking at the swinging doors.)

Joe What’d she say?

Nick Nothing. Just wanted to see me. (Pause.) What do you want with that gun?

Joe I study things, Nick.

An old man who looks as if he might have been Kit Carson at one time, walks in importantly, moves about, and finally stands at Joe’s table.

Kit Carson Murphy’s the name. Just an old trapper. Mind if I sit down?

Joe Be delighted. What’ll you drink?

Kit Carson (sitting down) Beer. Same as I’ve been drinking. And thanks.

Joe (to Nick) Glass of beer, Nick.

Nick brings the beer to the table, Kit Carson swallows it in one swig, wipes his big white moustache with the back of his right hand.

Kit Carson (moving in) I don’t suppose you ever fell in love with a midget weighing thirty-nine pounds?

Joe (studying the man) Can’t say I have, but have another beer.

Kit Carson (intimately) Thanks, thanks. Down in Gallup, twenty years ago. Fellow by the name of Rufus Jenkins came to town with six white horses and two black ones. Said he wanted a man to break the horses for him because his left leg was wood and he couldn’t do it. Had a meeting at Parker’s Mercantile Store and finally came to blows, me and Henry Walpal. Bashed his head with a brass cuspidor and ran away to Mexico, but he didn’t die.