MRS. TAYLOR.
(Emerging from the store door, arms full of groceries, looking at her husband) Yeah, and if you don’t shut up and git these rations home I’m gonna be worse on you than a jail and six judges. Pickup that basket and let’s go. (TONY meekly picks up the basket and he and his wife exit as the sound of an approaching guitar is heard off stage.)
(Two carelessly dressed, happy-go-lucky fellows enter together. One is fingering a guitar without playing any particular tune, and the other has his hat cocked over his eyes in a burlesque, dude-like manner. There are casual greetings.)
WALTER.
Hey, there, bums, how’s tricks?
LIGE.
What yo’ sayin’, boys?
HAMBO.
Good evenin’ sons.
LIGE.
How did you-all make out this evenin’, boys?
JIM.
Oh, them white folks at the party shelled out right well. Kept Dave busy pickin’ it up. How much did we make today, Dave?
DAVE.
(Striking his pocket) I don’t know, boy, but feels right heavy here. Kept me pickin’ up money just like this…. (As JIM picks a few dance chords, Dave gives a dance imitation of how he picked up the coins from the ground as the white folks threw them.) We count it after while. Woulda divided up with you already if you hadn’t left me when you seen Daisy comin’ by. Let’s sit down on the porch and rest now.
LIGE.
She sho is lookin’ stylish and pretty since she come back with her white folks from up North. Wearin’ the swellest clothes. And that coal-black hair of hers jus’ won’t quit.
MATTIE CLARK.
(In doorway) I don’t see what the mens always hanging after Daisy Taylor for.