PHONSIE: And you'd better take some handkerchiefs. You may want to cry. But don't cry in the beer, mommer, it makes it flat.
GLADYS: Thank you, baby, I do love to weep. Oh, if we only had a blizzard, I'd take you out in your nightie. But wait, sweetheart, wait till it goes below zero. Then you shall go out with mommer, bare-footed.
PHONSIE: Don't stand chewing the rag with the bartender, will you, mommer?
GLADYS: Only till he puts a second head on the beer. (Exit R.)
PHONSIE: Gee, it's fierce to be a stage child and dying. I wonder where my popper is? I want my popper—I want my popper. (Bawls.)
MOE REISS: (Enters.) Why, what is the matter, my little man?
PHONSIE: Oh, I'm so lonely, I want my popper.
MOE REISS: And where is your popper?
PHONSIE: Mommer says he is in Philadelphia. (Sniffles.)
MOE REISS: (Lifts hat reverently.) Dead, and his child doesn't know. And where is your mama?