--[Bitterly.] But, for Gawd's sake, don't you see, you're doing the
same thing you've always done? Don't you see--? [But she sees the look
of obsessed stubbornness on her father's face and gives it up
helplessly.] But what's the use of talking. You ain't right, that's
what. I'll never blame you for nothing no more. But how you could
figure out that was fixing me--!

CHRIS--Dat ain't all. Ay gat dem fallars in steam-ship office to pay
you all money coming to me every month vhile Ay'm avay.

ANNA--[With a hard laugh.] Thanks. But I guess I won't be hard up for
no small change.

CHRIS--[Hurt--humbly.] It ain't much, Ay know, but it's plenty for keep
you so you never gat go.

ANNA--[Shortly.] Shut up, will you? We'll talk about it later, see?

CHRIS--[After a pause--ingratiatingly.] You like Ay go ashore look for
dat Irish fallar, Anna?

ANNA--[Angrily.] Not much! Think I want to drag him back?

CHRIS--[After a pause--uncomfortably.] Py golly, dat booze don't go
veil. Give me fever, Ay tank, Ay feel hot like hell. [He takes off his
coat and lets it drop on the floor. There is a loud thud.]

ANNA--[With a start.] What you got in your pocket, for Pete's sake--a
ton of lead? [She reaches down, takes the coat and pulls out a
revolver--looks from it to him in amazement.] A gun? What were you
doing with this?

CHRIS--[Sheepishly.] Ay forgat. Ain't nutting. Ain't loaded, anyvay.

ANNA--[Breaking it open to make sure--then closing it again--looking at
him suspiciously.] That ain't telling me why you got it?

CHRIS--[Sheepishly.] Ay'm ole fool. Ay gat it vhen Ay go ashore first.
Ay tank den it's all fault of dat Irish fallar.

ANNA--[With a shudder.] Say, you're crazier than I thought. I never
dreamt you'd go that far.

CHRIS--[Quickly.] Ay don't. Ay gat better sense right avay. Ay don't
never buy bullets even. It ain't his fault, Ay know.

ANNA--[Still suspicious of him.] Well, I'll take care of this for a
while, loaded or not. [She puts it in the drawer of table and closes
the drawer.]

CHRIS--[Placatingly.] Throw it overboard if you vant. Ay don't care,
[Then after a pause.] Py golly, Ay tank Ay go lie down. Ay feel sick.
[ANNA takes a magazine from the table. CHRIS hesitates by her chair.]
Ve talk again before Ay go, yes?

ANNA--[Dully.] Where's this ship going to?

CHRIS--Cape Town. Dat's in South Africa. She's British steamer called
Londonderry. [He stands hesitatingly--finally blurts out.] Anna--you
forg