Valentine: No, Al, let me do it. There is somethin’ in it—I’ve just thought of it.
Jennings: What’s that?
Valentine: It’ll please the old lady. She’ll read about it in the paper, and paste it on the wall, and have somethin to look at the rest of her life. You know how a mother is, she likes her son to be number one, whatever he is—even a safe-cracker! Tell me, Al, you sure she didn’t find out I was sick?
Jennings: I swore to her you were head of the machine-shop, and the most useful man in the place.
Valentine: I might make the main finger send for her; but that would be worse than nothin’, it would break her heart. I think of her nights, I seem to feel her, wanderin’ round, lookin’ through the gates. Poor old soul, she’s got nothin’ in life but me, and she’s over sixty, and must be feeble. She sits all evenin’ lookin’ at my picture, kissin’ my old coat, prayin’ to Jesus fer my dirty soul. Gee, but it’s tough! (a pause. Joe is crying) Well, this’ll be a wet party if we go on. (rises feebly) What time does the show start?
Jennings: Tomorrow morning, Jimmie.
Valentine: All right, Al, tell the main finger I’m game, but I won’t kiss him. And get me a rat file, a good sharp one, with a lot of bite. Good night, Mr. Porter.
Porter: Good night.
Valentine: Lead me home, Joe. (takes Joe’s arm and goes feebly off right, to hospital. Porter sits with head in hands, staring before him. Jennings stands silent, wipes a furtive tear from his eyes, and then goes off, left, not daring to trust himself to speak)
Porter (to himself): If you ever put me in a story, put me like I might have been. A gay kid—a good-looker, and the girls all liked me. I decided to go straight too, but the bulls wouldn’t let me. There was a guy named Varick—Varick—