I don't understand at all.
IRA: Don't understand. Nobody understands. (_a curse with a sob in it_)
God damn the wind!
(_Sits down, his back to them_.)
EMIL: (_after a silence_) Well, I'll go. (_but he continues to look at_
IRA, _who is holding the sack of com shut, as if someone may take it_)
Too bad--(_stopped by a sign from_ MADELINE, _not to speak of it_) Well,
I was saying, I have go on to Beard's Crossing. I'll stop for you on my
way back. (_confidentially_) Couldn't you telephone your uncle? He could
do something. You don't know what you're going up against. You heard
what the Hindus got, I suppose.
MADELINE: No. I haven't seen anyone to-day.
EMIL: They're held for the grand jury. They're locked up now. No bail
for them. I've got the inside dope about them. They're going to get what
this country can hand 'em; then after we've given them a nice little
taste of prison life in America, they're going to be sent back home--to
see what India can treat them to.
MADELINE: Why are you so pleased about this, Emil?
EMIL: Pleased? It's nothin' to me--I'm just telling you. Guess you don't
know much about the Espionage Act or you'd go and make a little friendly
call on your uncle. When your case comes to trial--and Judge Lenon may
be on the bench--(_whistles_) He's one fiend for Americanism.
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