"Yer as mean as women" Duke: Yer a spiteful bird. Yer as mean as women. Ninnies I calls 'em. It must ha' been the moon. I should ha' waited fer a moon.
(He sits on the chest at the rear of the cabin and whittles a little ship. Women are a queer lot.
The Captain and Patch-Eye have climbed down the ladder. They burst with jest. The Captain sits on the chair by the fire, mimicing the posture of the Duke. Patch-Eye perches on his knee.)
Patch: Darlin' loves yer, Duke.
Captain: Course she does. They all does. Youngsters, too—winkin' and givin' me the snuggle-up.
Patch: Yer has lovely whiskers, Duke.
Captain: Yer can pull one, Betsy, fer the locket that yer wears.
(But the Duke ends the burlesque by upsetting the chair. The Captain and Patch-Eye, chuckling at their jest, sit to a game of cards. The Duke returns to the chest. Once in a while he lays down the ship and seems to be thinking. The broken crystal of the fortune-teller lies on the floor. He picks it up and puts it to his eye, as if the future may still show upon its face. He is preoccupied with his disappointment and his bitter thoughts.
Darlin', meantime, is heard singing in the kitchen with her dishes.)
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Fer griddle cakes I 've a nimble wrist And I tosses 'em 'igh on a spoon. And the Duke and Patch yer can hardly match Fer their breakfast they stretch till noon. And I heaps the fire and I greases the iron, And the Duke, he kisses me thumb. Me Darlin', me dear, it 's perfectly clear I 've lovin' yer better than rum. |