Three months have passed. It is mid-afternoon.
An invalid chair has been made by laying a board between the seat of the morris chair and the top of a box. In this Tony reclines, his crutches lying on the floor by his side. Father McKee nods drowsily in another chair. Joe sits on the porch rail outside the window perusing the scareheads of an I. W. W. paper.]
Father McKee
[Continuing the discussion]: Now, Joe, don’t be tryin’ to tell me that things is goin’ to be any better for havin’ a revolution, because they ain’t. Gover’ment’s always gover’ment no matter what you call it, an’ no particular kind of gover’ment ain’t no more’n a label anyway. You don’t change nothin’ by givin’ it a new name. Stick a “peppermint” label on a bottle of castor oil an’ then drink it an’ see what happens to you. Castor oil happens!
Tony
I am work’ just as much like Joe an’ I don’ want changin’ nothing.
Joe
I suppose you both come over here in the first place because you was satisfied with everythin’ just like it was in the old country?
