Jessie. Jack! Jack! Oh, how perfectly terrible! This cold night, and no money! What will he do?
Bob. There's many another man out there with no money. What do they do?
Jessie. Bob, I hate you!
Dad. It'll be the very thing for the young scapegrace—if he'll stick to it.
Jessie. But how will he live, Dad?
Dad. Live? Wasn't I a poor boy when I came to the city? And didn't I manage to make a fortune? Let him do what I did!
Jessie. But you were used to hardships, Dad!
Dad. Used to it? Of course I was—and why shouldn't he be? Why is he too good to work like other men?
Jessie (pleading) Oh, Dad—(Sudden loud sounds in Real-play, Right; piano and voices shouting chorus of the latest rag-time. Play-play fades instantly.)
Will. Hell and damnation! There go the devils with their coon-songs! (leaps up with distracted gestures) Oh! Oh! Oh!