LARRY—[Amazed.] Oho, what's up with you? Ain't you a sailor yourself now, and always been?
CHRIS—[Slowly.] Dat's yust vhy Ay say it. [Forcing a smile.] Sailor vas all right fallar, but not for marry gel. No. Ay know dat. Anna's mo'der, she know it, too.
LARRY—[As CHRIS remains sunk in gloomy reflection.] When is your daughter comin'? Soon?
CHRIS—[Roused.] Py yiminy, Ay forgat. [Reads through the letter hurriedly.] She say she come right avay, dat's all.
LARRY—She'll maybe be comin' here to look for you, I s'pose. [He returns to the bar, whistling. Left alone with MARTHY, who stares at him with a twinkle of malicious humor in her eyes, CHRIS suddenly becomes desperately ill-at-ease. He fidgets, then gets up hurriedly.]
CHRIS—Ay gat speak with Larry. Ay be right back. [Mollifyingly.] Ay bring you oder drink.
MARTHY—[Emptying her glass.] Sure. That's me. [As he retreats with the glass she guffaws after him derisively.]
CHRIS—[To LARRY in an alarmed whisper.] Py yingo, Ay gat gat Marthy shore off barge before Anna come! Anna raise hell if she find dat out. Marthy raise hell, too, for go, py golly!
LARRY—[With a chuckle.] Serve ye right, ye old divil—havin' a woman at your age!
CHRIS—[Scratching his head in a quandary.] You tal me lie for tal Marthy, Larry, so's she gat off barge quick.