You—are—my—Uncle Nathaniel.
NATHANIEL
Come, come, my boy. I can't hear you.
JONATHAN
Aren't you—Mr.—Nathaniel—Clay?
NATHANIEL (kindly, but as to a stranger)
Yes, I am Mr. Nathaniel Clay.
[Jonathan smiles one of his old half smiles.
JONATHAN
My name's—Jonathan.
NATHANIEL
Jonathan!… I had a nephew whose name was Jonathan.
JONATHAN
Don't you know me?
NATHANIEL
You must forgive me, little man—but I do not remember you. Boys grow so quickly.
JONATHAN
Don't you remember Zenobia?
NATHANIEL
Zenobia? Who was she?
JONATHAN
Don't you remember the little theatre?
NATHANIEL
Oh, yes, my nephew Jonathan had a little toy theatre, and he wrote a play called Zenobia.... He burnt them.
JONATHAN
Was it wrong to burn them?
NATHANIEL
I don't know. You see Jonathan ran away, and I have never seen him since.
JONATHAN
Do you blame him?
NATHANIEL
Well, I can't say. When a fine boy like Jonathan runs away from home, he may have what he considers a good reason.
JONATHAN
Don't you know why he ran away?
NATHANIEL
I think I know.
JONATHAN
Would you tell me why?
NATHANIEL
That wouldn't do any good, my boy.... If you had an uncle who liked you very much, would you run away?
JONATHAN
No, sir—not if I had another chance....
NATHANIEL
What do you mean?
JONATHAN
Don't you really know me?
NATHANIEL
I'm sorry—no!
JONATHAN (pointing to Hank)
Do you know him?