LARRY--[With a wink at MARTHY.] This girl, now, 'll be marryin' a
sailor herself, likely. It's in the blood.

CHRIS--[Suddenly springing to his feet and smashing his fist on
the table in a rage.] No, py God! She don't do dat!

MARTHY--[Grasping her schooner hastily--angrily.] Hey, look out,
yuh nut! Wanta spill my suds for me?

LARRY--[Amazed.] Oho, what's up with you? Ain't you a sailor
yourself now, and always been?

CHRIS--[Slowly.] Dat's yust vhy Ay say it. [Forcing a smile.]
Sailor vas all right fallar, but not for marry gel. No. Ay know
dat. Anna's mo'der, she know it, too.

LARRY--[As CHRIS remains sunk in gloomy reflection.] When is your
daughter comin'? Soon?

CHRIS--[Roused.] Py yiminy, Ay forgat. [Reads through the letter
hurriedly.] She say she come right avay, dat's all.

LARRY--She'll maybe be comin' here to look for you, I s'pose. [He
returns to the bar, whistling. Left alone with MARTHY, who stares
at him with a twinkle of malicious humor in her eyes, CHRIS
suddenly becomes desperately ill-at-ease. He fidgets, then gets up
hurriedly.]

CHRIS--Ay gat speak with Larry. Ay be right back. [Mollifyingly.]