ANNA—Why don't you come sit over here, be sociable. I'm a dead stranger in this burg—and I ain't spoke a word with no one since day before yesterday.
MARTHY—Sure thing. [She shuffles over to ANNA'S table and sits down opposite her. LARRY brings the drinks and ANNA pays him.]
ANNA—Skoal! Here's how! [She drinks.]
MARTHY—Here's luck! [She takes a gulp from her schooner.]
ANNA—[Taking a package of Sweet Caporal cigarettes from her bag.] Let you smoke in here, won't they?
MARTHY—[Doubtfully.] Sure. [Then with evident anxiety.] On'y trow it away if yuh hear someone comin'.
ANNA—[Lighting one and taking a deep inhale.] Gee, they're fussy in this dump, ain't they? [She puffs, staring at the table top. MARTHY looks her over with a new penetrating interest, taking in every detail of her face. ANNA suddenly becomes conscious of this appraising stare—resentfully.] Ain't nothing wrong with me, is there? You're looking hard enough.
MARTHY—[Irritated by the other's tone—scornfully.] Ain't got to look much. I got your number the minute you stepped in the door.
ANNA—[Her eyes narrowing.] Ain't you smart! Well, I got yours, too, without no trouble. You're me forty years from now. That's you! [She gives a hard little laugh.]
MARTHY—[Angrily.] Is that so? Well, I'll tell you straight, kiddo, that Marthy Owen never—[She catches herself up short—with a grin.] What are you and me scrappin' over? Let's cut it out, huh? Me, I don't want no hard feelin's with no one. [Extending her hand.] Shake and forget it, huh?