thinkin'.

MARTHY--[Shouts from next room.] Don't I get that bucket o' suds,
Dutchy?

CHRIS--[Startled--in apprehensive confusion.] Yes, Ay come,
Marthy.

LARRY--[Drawing the lager and ale, hands it to CHRIS--laughing.]
Now you're in for it! You'd better tell her straight to get out!

CHRIS--[Shaking in his boots.] Py golly. [He takes her drink in to
MARTHY and sits down at the table. She sips it in silence. LARRY
moves quietly close to the partition to listen, grinning with
expectation. CHRIS seems on the verge of speaking, hesitates,
gulps down his whiskey desperately as if seeking for courage. He
attempts to whistle a few bars of "Yosephine" with careless
bravado, but the whistle peters out futilely. MARTHY stares at him
keenly, taking in his embarrassment with a malicious twinkle of
amusement in her eye. CHRIS clears his throat.] Marthy--

MARTHY--[Aggressively.] Wha's that? [Then, pretending to fly into
a rage, her eyes enjoying CHRIS' misery.] I'm wise to what's in
back of your nut, Dutchy. Yuh want to git rid o' me, huh?--now
she's comin'. Gimme the bum's rush ashore, huh? Lemme tell yuh,
Dutchy, there ain't a square-head workin' on a boat man enough to
git away with that. Don't start nothin' yuh can't finish!

CHRIS--[Miserably.] Ay don't start nutting, Marthy.