Snooks [wiggling the bag, which gives out a loud, glassy clank]. Hear it talking to you, eh?
Charlotte looks from one to the other of them darkly.
Jerry. It’s all right, Charlit. I’ll tend to it. You go up-stairs. You go upstairs and read that—there’s a story in the Saturday Evening Post about a Chinese girl on the Buzzard Islands that——
Charlotte. I know. Who isn’t a Chinese girl. Never mind that. I’ll stay right here.
Jerry turns from her with the air of one who has done his best—but now—well, she must take the consequences.
Jerry [to Snooks]. Is this Mr. Snukes? Or Snooks?
Snooks. Snooks. Funny name, ain’t it? I made it up. I got it off a can of tomatoes. I’m an Irish-Pole by rights. [Meanwhile he has been emptying the sack of its contents and setting them on the table. First come two one-gallon jars, one full, the other empty. Then a square, unopened one-gallon can. Finally three small bottles and a medicine dropper.]
Charlotte [in dawning horror]. What’s that? A still?
Snooks [with a wink at Jerry]. No, lady, this here’s a wine-press.