Madden. You didn't need another pair, Florrie.
Mrs. Madden [on the defensive]. Y' wouldn' have me look worse 'n one o' these furriners, would y'? There's Mrs. Montanio nex' door; she's jus' got a pair o' mahogany ones an' a pair o' lemon colored ones. An' her husban's on'y a "slasher."
Madden. Slashers get a big sight more pay than under bookkeepers these days, Florrie.
Mrs. Madden [persuasively]. Got 'em at a bargain, anyways. Jus' think, Jim. On'y twelve, an' they was sixteen. [Madden groans audibly. She changes the subject hastily.] W'at's a news down town?
Madden [seriously]. Florrie— [He hesitates and then seems to change his mind. He relaxes and speaks wearily, trying to affect an off-hand manner.] Nothin' much. [Struck by an unpleasant recollection.] Comin' home by Market Wharf I saw 'em pull a woman out o' the river.
Mrs. Madden [interested]. Y' don' say, Jim. Was she dead?
Madden [nervously]. I ... I don't know. I didn't stop. [He passes his hand across his face with a sudden gesture of horror.] You know, Florrie, I hate things like that!
Mrs. Madden. Well—y' poor boob! Not t' find out if she was dead!
[She gives an impatient shrug of the shoulders and passes behind him, going over to the back window and looking out aimlessly. Madden picks up another bill, regarding it malevolently. After a moment she turns carelessly toward him.]
Mrs. Madden. Jim. [He does not look up.] Say, Jim. I'm awful tired o' cookin'. There ain't a thing t' eat in th' house. Le's go down t' Horseman's f'r a lobster supper t'night, an' then take in a real show. Mrs. Montanio's tol' me—