Jennings: Invite Mr. Porter to the next meeting of the Recluse Club, Judge.
Judge: We should be honored by yo’ presence, suh.
Porter (takes pills from a bottle and hands them to Judge; gives Delacour a paper of powder): There are your prescriptions. I shall be pleased to come, Judge.
Judge: Ah shall see that an extra plate is set.
Delacour: But fo’get the brayin’s of that jackass Jennin’s. (they start to the door, left)
Jennings: You know how it is, Bill, these old bags of money are always frightened to death, they hide their gold, and lie about it—
Delacour (in the doorway, shouts excitedly): Rot! Rot, Ah tell you, rot! (they go off)
Jennings (laughing heartily): We shall have a circus with those old banker boys! You know Raidler—my pal at the postoffice? A great lad—a hold-up artist—used to be known as “the Oklahoma terror,” but they shot him in the neck, and now he has trouble in navigating. But his tongue is still alive, and he’s the terror of “Bankers’ Row”—kids the life out of the pompous old duffers. That fat dumpling, Delacour, stole a fortune down in New Orleans, and Raidler gets him crazy, talking about his vast wealth, and his power in the prison. It really is a rotten graft, and they’re scared the story will leak out, and break into the papers. (becoming serious) Well, Bill, I must be moving. I have an errand for the warden. He had more than one reason for letting me out of the hole, it appears. (a pause) You never ask any questions, do you, Bill?
Porter: You will tell me what you want me to know.
Jennings (laughs): Yes, of course. You know Jimmie Valentine?