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 golly! And Ay go visit dem every
time Ay gat in port near! [Bursting with joy.] By yiminy crickens,
Ay calabrate dat! [Shouts.] Bring oder drink, Larry! [He smashes
his fist on the table with a bang.]

LARRY--[Coming in from bar--irritably.] Easy there! Don't be
breakin' the table, you old goat!

CHRIS--[By way of reply, grins foolishly and begins to sing.] "My
Yosephine comes board de ship--"

MARTHY--[Touching CHRIS' arm persuasively.] You're soused to the
ears, Dutchy. Go out and put a feed into you. It'll sober you up.
[Then as CHRIS shakes his head obstinately.] Listen, yuh old nut!
Yuh don't know what time your kid's liable to show up. Yuh want to
be sober when she comes, don't yuh?

CHRIS--[Aroused--gets unsteadily to his feet.] Py golly, yes.