Countess. Ambrose, do me a favor.
Peale. What is it?
Countess. Don’t tell old Martin what I tried to do to you boys. He’s the kind that would put me in jail. I’ll be on the level. I did come here to try to trim him, but I’ll cut it out. Honest, I will. Oh, Ambrose, I don’t like being a grafter. I’ve had to do a lot of things I didn’t want to. You don’t know how hard it is for girls like me. I never had a show. I ran away from home when I was a kid. I’ve been pretty much up against it. Is what I’ve done to other guys going to butt in and queer me?
Peale. Nix, nix——
Countess. Give me a chance to be on the square. It ain’t easy for a girl to fight it out all by herself when she’s all alone: no money—no friends and you got to live—live on five a week. You got a lot for a good time, haven’t you? God, I’ve been lonely sometimes; you’ve got to be pretty smart to steer straight—but I’ve done it, I’ve done it, I’ve done it. (She breaks down and sits on chair R. of desk)
Peale. (Kindly) Now, see here, Countess—(He pats her on back)—don’t do that—don’t, don’t—(She is sobbing a little) Oh, quit it. (A pause) Keep it for some poor boob who’ll fall for it.
Countess. (Tearfully) Oh, Ambrose, don’t talk like that——
Peale. Say, honest, it’s foolish wasting it on me, kid.
Countess. (Completely changing to a radiant smile. Rises) Well, it’s always worth trying once.