ANNA—[Sceptically.] Sick? You? You'd never think it.
CHRIS—And, Anna, dis ain't real sailor yob. Dis ain't real boat on sea. She's yust ole tub—like piece of land with house on it dat float. Yob on her ain't sea yob. No. Ay don't gat yob on sea, Anna, if Ay die first. Ay swear dat, ven your mo'der die. Ay keep my word, py yingo!
ANNA—[Perplexed.] Well, I can't see no difference. [Dismissing the subject.] Speaking of being sick, I been there myself—yust out of the hospital two weeks ago.
CHRIS—[Immediately all concern.] You, Anna? Py golly! [Anxiously.] You feel better now, dough, don't you? You look little tired, dat's all!
ANNA—[Wearily.] I am. Tired to death. I need a long rest and I don't see much chance of getting it.
CHRIS—What you mean, Anna?
ANNA—Well, when I made up my mind to come to see you, I thought you was a yanitor—that you'd have a place where, maybe, if you didn't mind having me, I could visit a while and rest up—till I felt able to get back on the job again.
CHRIS—[Eagerly.] But Ay gat place, Anna—nice place. You rest all you want, py yiminy! You don't never have to vork as nurse gel no more. You stay with me, py golly!
ANNA—[Surprised and pleased by his eagerness—with a smile.] Then you're really glad to see me—honest?
CHRIS—[Pressing one of her hands in both of his.] Anna, Ay like see you like hell, Ay tal you! And don't you talk no more about gatting yob. You stay with me. Ay don't see you for long time, you don't forgat dat. [His voice trembles.] Ay'm gatting ole. Ay gat no one in vorld but you.