CHRIS—[Proudly.] Dat vas Anna, Larry.
LARRY—[In amazement.] Your daughter, Anna? [CHRIS nods. LARRY lets a long, low whistle escape him and turns away embarrassedly.]
CHRIS—Don't you tank she vas pooty gel, Larry?
LARRY—[Rising to the occasion.] Sure! A peach!
CHRIS—You bet you! Give me drink for take back—one port vine for Anna—she calabrate dis one time with me—and small beer for me.
LARRY—[As he gets the drinks.] Small beer for you, eh? She's reformin' you already.
CHRIS—[Pleased.] You bet! [He takes the drinks. As she hears him coming, ANNA hastily dries her eyes, tries to smile. CHRIS comes in and sets the drinks down on the table—stares at her for a second anxiously—patting her hand.] You look tired, Anna. Veil, Ay make you take good long rest now. [Picking up his beer.] Come, you drink vine. It put new life in you. [She lifts her glass—he grins.] Skoal, Anna! You know dat Svedish word?
ANNA—Skoal! [Downing her port at a gulp like a drink of whiskey—her lips trembling.] Skoal? Guess I know that word, all right, all right!
[The Curtain Falls]