CHRIS—[Jovially.] She's good gel, Ay tal you! Py golly, Ay calabrate now! Give me vhiskey here at bar, too. [He puts down money. LARRY serves him.] You have drink, Larry.
LARRY—[Virtuously.] You know I never touch it.
CHRIS—You don't know what you miss. Skoal! [He drinks—then begins to sing loudly.]
"My Yosephine, come board de ship—"
[He picks up the drinks for MARTHY and himself and walks unsteadily into the back room, singing.]
"De moon, she shi-i-i-ine. She looks yust like you.
Tche-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee."
MARTHY—[Grinning, hands to ears.] Gawd!
CHRIS—[Sitting down.] Ay'm good singer, yes? Ve drink, eh? Skoal! Ay calabrate! [He drinks.] Ay calabrate 'cause Anna's coming home. You know, Marthy, Ay never write for her to come, 'cause Ay tank Ay'm no good for her. But all time Ay hope like hell some day she vant for see me and den she come. And dat's vay it happen now, py yiminy! [His face beaming.] What you tank she look like, Marthy? Ay bet you she's fine, good, strong gel, pooty like hell! Living on farm made her like dat. And Ay bet you some day she marry good, steady land fallar here in East, have home all her own, have kits—and dan Ay'm ole grandfader, py golly! And Ay go visit dem every time Ay gat in port near! [Bursting with joy.] By yiminy crickens, Ay calabrate dat! [Shouts.] Bring oder drink, Larry! [He smashes his fist on the table with a bang.]
LARRY—[Coming in from bar—irritably.] Easy there! Don't be breakin' the table, you old goat!
CHRIS—[By way of reply, grins foolishly and begins to sing.] "My Yosephine comes board de ship—"