Valentine: Sure—give him a drink.
Jennings (takes the bottle from the Judge): What’s this label say? “Spiritus frumenti.” A nice, pious medical label! Down in Latin-America, you remember, they call it “Espiritu de la Vina.” There too they sometimes have troubles more than mortal flesh can stand; and they know Dr. Barleycorn’s old-established remedy. (he pours a glass full) Drink, Bill, take it quick, take it raw, and slide into oblivion. When you come out again, things will be duller, your grief won’t weigh so heavy, you’ll have a headache and a fuzzy tongue and a few other things to think about. (presses the glass upon him) Down with it! For Jimmie and me, if not for yourself, Bill! (as Porter drinks) There, that’s better! That’s the philosopher! (as Porter drains the glass and sinks back into his chair, Jennings pours the rest of the bottle into the other five glasses) Here, gentlemen, we won’t wait for Creole style, we’ll take it a la Texas. (sings)
Like every regular fellow I takes my whiskey clear
For I’m a rambling rake o’ poverty and a son of a gambolier!
Joe: Jes a drap fo de niggeh, boss. (he gets a share, and they all lift their glasses, sing the chorus, and drink)
Valentine (lifts his half-empty glass): Here’s to my next hemorrhage—may she come quick!
Jennings: A happier world for Jimmie!
Raidler: Where they’ll give him his pardon!
All (in a flat and feeble tone): Hurrah! Hurrah! (Porter sinks his head into his arms on the table, in which position he remains during the following scene. Joe brings chair for Jennings, who sits down, singing and orating; the other members of the party cheer and pound upon the table, and the lights begin to wink and stagger, alternately red and white; red searchlights play here and there, producing a drunken effect)