waitin' for me. Always was, I always found. [She claps the astonished
CHRIS on the back.] So cheer up, Dutchy! I'll be offen the barge before
she comes. You'll be rid o' me for good--and me o' you--good riddance
for both of us. Ho-ho!

CHRIS--[Seriously.] Ay don' tank dat. You vas good gel, Marthy.

MARTHY--[Grinning.] Good girl? Aw, can the bull! Well, yuh treated me
square, yuhself. So it's fifty-fifty. Nobody's sore at nobody. We're
still good frien's, huh? [LARRY returns to bar.]

CHRIS--[Beaming now that he sees his troubles disappearing.] Yes, py
golly.

MARTHY--That's the talkin'! In all my time I tried never to split with
a guy with no hard feelin's. But what was yuh so scared about--that I'd
kick up a row? That ain't Marthy's way. [Scornfully.] Think I'd break
my heart to lose yuh? Commit suicide, huh? Ho-ho! Gawd! The world's
full o' men if that's all I'd worry about! [Then with a grin, after
emptying her glass.] Blow me to another scoop, huh? I'll drink your
kid's health for yuh.

CHRIS--[Eagerly.] Sure tang. Ay go gat him. [He takes the two glasses
into the bar.] Oder drink. Same for both.

LARRY--[Getting the drinks and putting them on the bar.] She's not such
a bad lot, that one.

CHRIS--[Jovially.] She's good gel, Ay tal you! Py golly, Ay calabrate
now! Give me vhiskey here at bar, too. [He puts down money. LARRY
serves him.] You have drink, Larry.

LARRY--[Virtuously.] You know I never touch it.

CHRIS--You don't know what you miss. Skoal! [He drinks--then begins to
sing loudly.]

"My Yosephine, come board de ship--"

[He picks up the drinks for MARTHY and himself and walks unsteadily
into the back room, singing.]

"De moon, she shi-i-i-ine. She looks yust like you.
Tche-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee."

MARTHY--[Grinning, hands to ears.] Gawd!

CHRIS--[Sitting down.] Ay'm good singer, yes? Ve drink, eh? Skoal! Ay
calabrate! [He drinks.] Ay calabrate 'cause Anna's coming home. You
know, Marthy, Ay never write for her to come, 'cause Ay tank Ay'm no
good for her. But all time Ay hope like hell some day she vant for see
me and den she come. And dat's vay it happen now, py yiminy! [His face
beaming.] What you tank she look like, Marthy? Ay bet you she's fine,
good, strong gel, pooty like hell! Living on farm made her like dat.
And Ay bet you some day she marry good, steady land fallar here in
East, have home all her own, have kits--and dan Ay'm ole grandfader, py