ANNA--[With a half hysterical laugh.] All right! I'll take port.

CHRIS--Ay go gat him. [He goes out to the bar. As soon as the door
closes, Anna starts to her feet.]

ANNA--[Picking up her bag--half--aloud--stammeringly.] Gawd, I
can't stand this! I better beat it. [Then she lets her bag drop,
stumbles over to her chair again, and covering her face with her
hands, begins to sob.]

LARRY--[Putting down his paper as CHRIS comes up--with a grin.]
Well, who's the blond?

CHRIS--[Proudly.] Dat vas Anna, Larry.

LARRY--[In amazement.] Your daughter, Anna? [CHRIS nods. LARRY
lets a long, low whistle escape him and turns away embarrassedly.]

CHRIS--Don't you tank she vas pooty gel, Larry?

LARRY--[Rising to the occasion.] Sure! A peach!

CHRIS--You bet you! Give me drink for take back--one port vine
for Anna--she calabrate dis one time with me--and small beer for
me.

LARRY--[As he gets the drinks.] Small beer for you, eh? She's
reformin' you already.

CHRIS--[Pleased.] You bet! [He takes the drinks. As she hears him