FRANKEL [hastily, in a low voice]: Mr. Gibson, keep it under your hat, but I got a pretty good interest in this factory right now. What date I'm goin' to own it I won't say. But what I want to put up to you: How much would you ask me to manage it for me?
GIBSON: What?
FRANKEL: I wouldn't be no piker; when it comes to your salary you could pretty near set it yourself.
GIBSON: I'm afraid I've already had an offer that would keep me from accepting, Frankel.
FRANKEL: When the time comes I'll git a manager somewhere; no place like this can't run itself; I seen that much.
GIBSON: Even if I didn't have an offer, Frankel, I doubt if I'd accept yours. You know I used to have some little trouble here.
FRANKEL: You got my sympathy now! I got troubles myself here. [Hastily drinks another glass of water.] Well, where's that meeting? They're late, ain't they?
CARTER: If they are it's your fault. Them wops of yours won't hardly let a body git by out yonder.
[SALVATORE and SHOMBERG come in from the factory, SALVATORE pausing in the doorway to shout in the direction of an audible disturbance in the distance.]
SALVATORE: Oh, shut up; you'll git your pay!