Books: Anna Christie
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Eugene O\'Neill >> Anna Christie
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"ANNA CHRISTIE"
A Play in Four Acts
By EUGENE O'NEILL
CHARACTERS
"JOHNNY-THE-PRIEST"
TWO LONGSHOREMEN
A POSTMAN
LARRY, bartender
CHRIS. CHRISTOPHERSON, captain of the barge "Simeon Winthrop"
MARTHY OWEN
ANNA CHRISTOPHERSON, Chris's daughter
THREE MEN OF A STEAMER'S CREW
MAT BURKE, a stoker
JOHNSON, deckhand on the barge
SCENES
ACT I
"Johnny-the-Priest's" saloon near the waterfront. New York City.
ACT II
The barge, Simeon Winthrop, at anchor in the harbor of
Provincetown, Mass. Ten days later.
ACT III
Cabin of the barge, at dock in Boston. A week later.
ACT IV
The same. Two days later.
Time of the Play--About 1910.
ACT I
SCENE--"Johnny-The-Priest's" saloon near South Street, New York
City. The stage is divided into two sections, showing a small back
room on the right. On the left, forward, of the barroom, a large
window looking out on the street. Beyond it, the main entrance--a
double swinging door. Farther back, another window. The bar runs
from left to right nearly the whole length of the rear wall. In
back of the bar, a small showcase displaying a few bottles of case
goods, for which there is evidently little call. The remainder of
the rear space in front of the large mirrors is occupied by half-
barrels of cheap whiskey of the "nickel-a-shot" variety, from
which the liquor is drawn by means of spigots. On the right is an
open doorway leading to the back room. In the back room are four
round wooden tables with five chairs grouped about each. In the
rear, a family entrance opening on a side street.
It is late afternoon of a day in fall.
As the curtain rises, Johnny is discovered. "Johnny-The-Priest"
deserves his nickname. With his pale, thin, clean-shaven face,
mild blue eyes and white hair, a cassock would seem more suited to
him than the apron he wears. Neither his voice nor his general
manner dispel this illusion which has made him a personage of the
water front. They are soft and bland. But beneath all his mildness
one senses the man behind the mask--cynical, callous, hard as
nails. He is lounging at ease behind the bar, a pair of spectacles
on his nose, reading an evening paper.
Two longshoremen enter from the street, wearing their working
aprons, the button of the union pinned conspicuously on the caps
pulled sideways on their heads at an aggressive angle.
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN--[As they range themselves at the bar.] Gimme a
shock. Number Two. [He tosses a coin on the bar.]
SECOND LONGSHOREMAN--Same here. [Johnny sets two glasses of barrel
whiskey before them.]
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN--Here's luck! [The other nods. They gulp down
their whiskey.]
SECOND LONGSHOREMAN--[Putting money on the bar.] Give us another.
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN--Gimme a scoop this time--lager and porter.
I'm dry.
SECOND LONGSHOREMAN--Same here. [Johnny draws the lager and porter
and sets the big, foaming schooners before them. They drink down
half the contents and start to talk together hurriedly in low
tones. The door on the left is swung open and Larry enters. He is
a boyish, red-cheeked, rather good-looking young fellow of twenty
or so.]
LARRY--[Nodding to Johnny--cheerily.] Hello, boss.
JOHNNY--Hello, Larry. [With a glance at his watch.] Just on time.
[LARRY goes to the right behind the bar, takes off his coat, and
puts on an apron.]
FIRST LONGSHOREMAN--[Abruptly.] Let's drink up and get back to it.
[They finish their drinks and go out left. The POSTMAN enters as
they leave. He exchanges nods with JOHNNY and throws a letter on
the bar.]
THE POSTMAN--Addressed care of you, Johnny. Know him?
JOHNNY--[Picks up the letter, adjusting his spectacles. LARRY
comes and peers over his shoulders. JOHNNY reads very slowly.]
Christopher Christopherson.
THE POSTMAN--[Helpfully.] Square-head name.
LARRY--Old Chris--that's who.
JOHNNY--Oh, sure. I was forgetting Chris carried a hell of a name
like that. Letters come here for him sometimes before, I remember
now. Long time ago, though.
THE POSTMAN--It'll get him all right then?
JOHNNY--Sure thing. He comes here whenever he's in port.
THE POSTMAN--[Turning to go.] Sailor, eh?
JOHNNY--[With a grin.] Captain of a coal barge.
THE POSTMAN--[Laughing.] Some job! Well, s'long.
JOHNNY--S'long. I'll see he gets it. [The POSTMAN goes out. JOHNNY
scrutinizes the letter.] You got good eyes, Larry. Where's it
from?
LARRY--[After a glance.] St. Paul. That'll be in Minnesota, I'm
thinkin'. Looks like a woman's writing, too, the old divil!
JOHNNY--He's got a daughter somewheres out West, I think he told
me once. [He puts the letter on the cash register.] Come to think
of it, I ain't seen old Chris in a dog's age. [Putting his
overcoat on, he comes around the end of the bar.] Guess I'll be
gettin' home. See you to-morrow.
LARRY--Good-night to ye, boss. [As JOHNNY goes toward the street
door, it is pushed open and CHRISTOPHER CHRISTOPHERSON
enters. He is a short, squat, broad-shouldered man of about fifty, with
a round, weather-beaten, red face from which his light blue eyes
peer short-sightedly, twinkling with a simple good humor. His
large mouth, overhung by a thick, drooping, yellow mustache, is
childishly self-willed and weak, of an obstinate kindliness. A
thick neck is jammed like a post into the heavy trunk of his body.
His arms with their big, hairy, freckled hands, and his stumpy
legs terminating in large flat feet, are awkwardly short and
muscular. He walks with a clumsy, rolling gait. His voice, when
not raised in a hollow boom, is toned down to a sly, confidential
half-whisper with something vaguely plaintive in its quality. He
is dressed in a wrinkled, ill-fitting dark suit of shore clothes,
and wears a faded cap of gray cloth over his mop of grizzled,
blond hair. Just now his face beams with a too-blissful happiness,
and he has evidently been drinking. He reaches his hand out to
JOHNNY.]
CHRIS--Hello, Yohnny! Have drink on me. Come on, Larry. Give us
drink. Have one yourself. [Putting his hand in his pocket.] Ay gat
money--plenty money.
JOHNNY--[Shakes CHRIS by the hand.] Speak of the devil. We was
just talkin' about you.
LARRY--[Coming to the end of the bar.] Hello, Chris. Put it there.
[They shake hands.]
CHRIS--[Beaming.] Give us drink.
JOHNNY--[With a grin.] You got a half-snootful now. Where'd you
get it?
CHRIS--[Grinning.] Oder fallar on oder barge--Irish fallar--he
gat bottle vhiskey and we drank it, yust us two. Dot vhiskey gat
kick, by yingo! Ay yust come ashore. Give us drink, Larry. Ay vas
little drunk, not much. Yust feel good. [He laughs and commences
to sing in a nasal, high-pitched quaver.]
"My Yosephine, come board de ship. Long time Ay
vait for you.
De moon, she shi-i-i-ine. She looka yust like you.
Tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee."
[To the accompaniment of this last he waves his hand as if he were
conducting an orchestra.]
JOHNNY--[With a laugh.] Same old Yosie, eh, Chris?
CHRIS--You don't know good song when you hear him. Italian fallar
on oder barge, he learn me dat. Give us drink. [He throws change
on the bar.]
LARRY--[With a professional air.] What's your pleasure, gentlemen?
JOHNNY--Small beer, Larry.
CHRIS--Vhiskey--Number Two.
LARRY--[As he gets their drinks.] I'll take a cigar on you.
CHRIS--[Lifting his glass.] Skoal! [He drinks.]
JOHNNY--Drink hearty.
CHRIS--[Immediately.] Have oder drink.
JOHNNY--No. Some other time. Got to go home now. So you've just
landed? Where are you in from this time?
CHRIS--Norfolk. Ve make slow voyage--dirty vedder--yust fog, fog,
fog, all bloody time! [There is an insistent ring from the
doorbell at the family entrance in the back room. Chris gives a
start--hurriedly.] Ay go open, Larry. Ay forgat. It vas Marthy.
She come with me. [He goes into the back room.]
LARRY--[With a chuckle.] He's still got that same cow livin' with
him, the old fool!
JOHNNY--[With a grin.] A sport, Chris is. Well, I'll beat it home.
S'long. [He goes to the street door.]
LARRY--So long, boss.
JOHNNY--Oh--don't forget to give him his letter.
LARRY--I won't. [JOHNNY goes out. In the meantime, CHRIS has
opened the family entrance door, admitting MARTHY. She might be
forty or fifty. Her jowly, mottled face, with its thick red nose,
is streaked with interlacing purple veins. Her thick, gray hair is
piled anyhow in a greasy mop on top of her round head. Her figure
is flabby and fat; her breath comes in wheezy gasps; she speaks in
a loud, mannish voice, punctuated by explosions of hoarse
laughter. But there still twinkles in her blood-shot blue eyes a
youthful lust for life which hard usage has failed to stifle, a
sense of humor mocking, but good-tempered. She wears a man's cap,
double-breasted man's jacket, and a grimy, calico skirt. Her bare
feet are encased in a man's brogans several sizes too large for
her, which gives her a shuffling, wobbly gait.]
MARTHY--[Grumblingly.] What yuh tryin' to do, Dutchy--keep me
standin' out there all day? [She comes forward and sits at the
table in the right corner, front.]
CHRIS--[Mollifyingly.] Ay'm sorry, Marthy. Ay talk to Yohnny. Ay
forgat. What you goin' take for drink?
MARTHY--[Appeased.] Gimme a scoop of lager an' ale.
CHRIS--Ay go bring him back. [He returns to the bar.] Lager and
ale for Marthy, Larry. Vhiskey for me. [He throws change on the
bar.]
LARRY--Right you are. [Then remembering, he takes the letter from
in back of the bar.] Here's a letter for you--from St. Paul,
Minnesota--and a lady's writin'. [He grins.]
CHRIS--[Quickly--taking it.] Oh, den it come from my daughter,
Anna. She live dere. [He turns the letter over in his hands
uncertainly.] Ay don't gat letter from Anna--must be a year.
LARRY--[Jokingly.] That's a fine fairy tale to be tellin'--your
daughter! Sure I'll bet it's some bum.
CHRIS--[Soberly.] No. Dis come from Anna. [Engrossed by the letter
in his hand--uncertainly.] By golly, Ay tank Ay'm too drunk for
read dis letter from Anna. Ay tank Ay sat down for a minute. You
bring drinks in back room, Larry. [He goes into the room on
right.]
MARTHY--[Angrily.] Where's my lager an' ale, yuh big stiff?
CHRIS--[Preoccupied.] Larry bring him. [He sits down opposite her.
LARRY brings in the drinks and sets them on the table. He and
MARTHY exchange nods of recognition. LARRY stands looking at CHRIS
curiously. MARTHY takes a long draught of her schooner and heaves
a huge sigh of satisfaction, wiping her mouth with the back of her
hand. CHRIS stares at the letter for a moment--slowly opens it,
and, squinting his eyes, commences to read laboriously, his lips
moving as he spells out the words. As he reads his face lights up
with an expression of mingled joy and bewilderment.]
LARRY--Good news?
MARTHY--[Her curiosity also aroused.] What's that yuh got--a
letter, fur Gawd's sake?
CHRIS--[Pauses for a moment, after finishing the letter, as if to
let the news sink in--then suddenly pounds his fist on the table
with happy excitement.] Py yiminy! Yust tank, Anna say she's
comin' here right avay! She gat sick on yob in St. Paul, she say.
It's short letter, don't tal me much more'n dat. [Beaming.] Py
golly, dat's good news all at one time for ole fallar! [Then
turning to MARTHY, rather shamefacedly.] You know, Marthy, Ay've
tole you Ay don't see my Anna since she vas little gel in Sveden
five year ole.
MARTHY--How old'll she be now?
CHRIS--She must be--lat me see--she must be twenty year ole, py
Yo!
LARRY--[Surprised.] You've not seen her in fifteen years?
CHRIS--[Suddenly growing somber--in a low tone.] No. Ven she vas
little gel, Ay vas bo'sun on vindjammer. Ay never gat home only
few time dem year. Ay'm fool sailor fallar. My voman--Anna's
mother--she gat tired vait all time Sveden for me ven Ay don't
never come. She come dis country, bring Anna, dey go out
Minnesota, live with her cousins on farm. Den ven her mo'der die
ven Ay vas on voyage, Ay tank it's better dem cousins keep Anna.
Ay tank it's better Anna live on farm, den she don't know dat ole
davil, sea, she don't know fader like me.
LARRY--[With a wink at MARTHY.] This girl, now, 'll be marryin' a
sailor herself, likely. It's in the blood.
CHRIS--[Suddenly springing to his feet and smashing his fist on
the table in a rage.] No, py God! She don't do dat!
MARTHY--[Grasping her schooner hastily--angrily.] Hey, look out,
yuh nut! Wanta spill my suds for me?
LARRY--[Amazed.] Oho, what's up with you? Ain't you a sailor
yourself now, and always been?
CHRIS--[Slowly.] Dat's yust vhy Ay say it. [Forcing a smile.]
Sailor vas all right fallar, but not for marry gel. No. Ay know
dat. Anna's mo'der, she know it, too.
LARRY--[As CHRIS remains sunk in gloomy reflection.] When is your
daughter comin'? Soon?
CHRIS--[Roused.] Py yiminy, Ay forgat. [Reads through the letter
hurriedly.] She say she come right avay, dat's all.
LARRY--She'll maybe be comin' here to look for you, I s'pose. [He
returns to the bar, whistling. Left alone with MARTHY, who stares
at him with a twinkle of malicious humor in her eyes, CHRIS
suddenly becomes desperately ill-at-ease. He fidgets, then gets up
hurriedly.]
CHRIS--Ay gat speak with Larry. Ay be right back. [Mollifyingly.]
Ay bring you oder drink.
MARTHY--[Emptying her glass.] Sure. That's me. [As he retreats
with the glass she guffaws after him derisively.]
CHRIS--[To LARRY in an alarmed whisper.] Py yingo, Ay gat gat
Marthy shore off barge before Anna come! Anna raise hell if she
find dat out. Marthy raise hell, too, for go, py golly!
LARRY--[With a chuckle.] Serve ye right, ye old divil--havin' a
woman at your age!
CHRIS--[Scratching his head in a quandary.] You tal me lie for tal
Marthy, Larry, so's she gat off barge quick.
LARRY--She knows your daughter's comin'. Tell her to get the hell
out of it.
CHRIS--No. Ay don't like make her feel bad.
LARRY--You're an old mush! Keep your girl away from the barge,
then. She'll likely want to stay ashore anyway. [Curiously.] What
does she work at, your Anna?
CHRIS--She stay on dem cousins' farm 'till two year ago. Dan she
gat yob nurse gel in St. Paul. [Then shaking his head resolutely.]
But Ay don't vant for her gat yob now. Ay vant for her stay with
me.
LARRY--[Scornfully.] On a coal barge! She'll not like that, I'm
thinkin'.
MARTHY--[Shouts from next room.] Don't I get that bucket o' suds,
Dutchy?
CHRIS--[Startled--in apprehensive confusion.] Yes, Ay come,
Marthy.
LARRY--[Drawing the lager and ale, hands it to CHRIS--laughing.]
Now you're in for it! You'd better tell her straight to get out!
CHRIS--[Shaking in his boots.] Py golly. [He takes her drink in to
MARTHY and sits down at the table. She sips it in silence. LARRY
moves quietly close to the partition to listen, grinning with
expectation. CHRIS seems on the verge of speaking, hesitates,
gulps down his whiskey desperately as if seeking for courage. He
attempts to whistle a few bars of "Yosephine" with careless
bravado, but the whistle peters out futilely. MARTHY stares at him
keenly, taking in his embarrassment with a malicious twinkle of
amusement in her eye. CHRIS clears his throat.] Marthy--
MARTHY--[Aggressively.] Wha's that? [Then, pretending to fly into
a rage, her eyes enjoying CHRIS' misery.] I'm wise to what's in
back of your nut, Dutchy. Yuh want to git rid o' me, huh?--now
she's comin'. Gimme the bum's rush ashore, huh? Lemme tell yuh,
Dutchy, there ain't a square-head workin' on a boat man enough to
git away with that. Don't start nothin' yuh can't finish!
CHRIS--[Miserably.] Ay don't start nutting, Marthy.
MARTHY--[Glares at him for a second--then cannot control a burst
of laughter.] Ho-ho! Yuh're a scream, Square-head--an honest-ter-
Gawd knockout! Ho-ho! [She wheezes, panting for breath.]
CHRIS--[With childish pique.] Ay don't see nutting for laugh at.
MARTHY--Take a slant in the mirror and yuh'll see. Ho-ho!
[Recovering from her mirth--chuckling, scornfully.] A square-head
tryin' to kid Marthy Owen at this late day!--after me campin' with
barge men the last twenty years. I'm wise to the game, up, down,
and sideways. I ain't been born and dragged up on the water front
for nothin'. Think I'd make trouble, huh? Not me! I'll pack up me
duds an' beat it. I'm quittin' yuh, get me? I'm tellin' yuh I'm
sick of stickin' with yuh, and I'm leavin' yuh flat, see? There's
plenty of other guys on other barges waitin' for me. Always was, I
always found. [She claps the astonished CHRIS on the back.] So
cheer up, Dutchy! I'll be offen the barge before she comes. You'll
be rid o' me for good--and me o' you--good riddance for both of
us. Ho-ho!
CHRIS--[Seriously.] Ay don' tank dat. You vas good gel, Marthy.
MARTHY--[Grinning.] Good girl? Aw, can the bull! Well, yuh treated
me square, yuhself. So it's fifty-fifty. Nobody's sore at nobody.
We're still good frien's, huh? [LARRY returns to bar.]
CHRIS--[Beaming now that he sees his troubles disappearing.] Yes,
py golly.
MARTHY--That's the talkin'! In all my time I tried never to split
with a guy with no hard feelin's. But what was yuh so scared
about--that I'd kick up a row? That ain't Marthy's way.
[Scornfully.] Think I'd break my heart to lose yuh? Commit
suicide, huh? Ho-ho! Gawd! The world's full o' men if that's all
I'd worry about! [Then with a grin, after emptying her glass.]
Blow me to another scoop, huh? I'll drink your kid's health for
yuh.
CHRIS--[Eagerly.] Sure tang. Ay go gat him. [He takes the two
glasses into the bar.] Oder drink. Same for both.
LARRY--[Getting the drinks and putting them on the bar.] She's not
such a bad lot, that one.
CHRIS--[Jovially.] She's good gel, Ay tal you! Py golly, Ay
calabrate now! Give me vhiskey here at bar, too. [He puts down
money. LARRY serves him.] You have drink, Larry.
LARRY--[Virtuously.] You know I never touch it.
CHRIS--You don't know what you miss. Skoal! [He drinks--then
begins to sing loudly.]
"My Yosephine, come board de ship--"
[He picks up the drinks for MARTHY and himself and walks
unsteadily into the back room, singing.]
"De moon, she shi-i-i-ine. She looks yust like you.
Tche-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee, tchee-tchee."
MARTHY--[Grinning, hands to ears.] Gawd!
CHRIS--[Sitting down.] Ay'm good singer, yes? Ve drink, eh? Skoal!
Ay calabrate! [He drinks.] Ay calabrate 'cause Anna's coming home.
You know, Marthy, Ay never write for her to come, 'cause Ay tank
Ay'm no good for her. But all time Ay hope like hell some day she
vant for see me and den she come. And dat's vay it happen now, py
yiminy! [His face beaming.] What you tank she look like, Marthy?
Ay bet you she's fine, good, strong gel, pooty like hell! Living
on farm made her like dat. And Ay bet you some day she marry good,
steady land fallar here in East, have home all her own, have kits--
and dan Ay'm ole grandfader, py golly! And Ay go visit dem every
time Ay gat in port near! [Bursting with joy.] By yiminy crickens,
Ay calabrate dat! [Shouts.] Bring oder drink, Larry! [He smashes
his fist on the table with a bang.]
LARRY--[Coming in from bar--irritably.] Easy there! Don't be
breakin' the table, you old goat!
CHRIS--[By way of reply, grins foolishly and begins to sing.] "My
Yosephine comes board de ship--"
MARTHY--[Touching CHRIS' arm persuasively.] You're soused to the
ears, Dutchy. Go out and put a feed into you. It'll sober you up.
[Then as CHRIS shakes his head obstinately.] Listen, yuh old nut!
Yuh don't know what time your kid's liable to show up. Yuh want to
be sober when she comes, don't yuh?
CHRIS--[Aroused--gets unsteadily to his feet.] Py golly, yes.
LARRY--That's good sense for you. A good beef stew'll fix you. Go
round the corner.
CHRIS--All right. Ay be back soon, Marthy. [CHRIS goes through the
bar and out the street door.]
LARRY--He'll come round all right with some grub in him.
MARTHY--Sure. [LARRY goes back to the bar and resumes his
newspaper. MARTHY sips what is left of her schooner reflectively.
There is the ring of the family entrance bell. LARRY comes to the
door and opens it a trifle--then, with a puzzled expression, pulls
it wide. ANNA CHRISTOPHERSON enters. She is a tall, blond, fully-
developed girl of twenty, handsome after a large, Viking-daughter
fashion but now run down in health and plainly showing all the
outward evidences of belonging to the world's oldest profession.
Her youthful face is already hard and cynical beneath its layer of
make-up. Her clothes are the tawdry finery of peasant stock turned
prostitute. She comes and sinks wearily in a chair by the table,
left front.]
ANNA--Gimme a whiskey--ginger ale on the side. [Then, as LARRY
turns to go, forcing a winning smile at him.] And don't be stingy,
baby.
LARRY--[Sarcastically.] Shall I serve it in a pail?
ANNA--[With a hard laugh.] That suits me down to the ground.
[LARRY goes into the bar. The two women size each other up with
frank stares. LARRY comes back with the drink which he sets before
ANNA and returns to the bar again. ANNA downs her drink at a gulp.
Then, after a moment, as the alcohol begins to rouse her, she
turns to MARTHY with a friendly smile.] Gee, I needed that bad,
all right, all right!
MARTHY--[Nodding her head sympathetically.] Sure--yuh look all in.
Been on a bat?
ANNA--No--travelling--day and a half on the train. Had to sit up
all night in the dirty coach, too. Gawd, I thought I'd never get
here!
MARTHY--[With a start--looking at her intently.] Where'd yuh come
from, huh?
ANNA--St. Paul--out in Minnesota.
MARTHY--[Staring at her in amazement--slowly.] So--yuh're--[She
suddenly bursts out into hoarse, ironical laughter.] Gawd!
ANNA--All the way from Minnesota, sure. [Flaring up.] What you
laughing at? Me?
MARTHY--[Hastily.] No, honest, kid. I was thinkin' of somethin'
else.
ANNA--[Mollified--with a smile.] Well, I wouldn't blame you, at
that. Guess I do look rotten--yust out of the hospital two weeks.
I'm going to have another 'ski. What d'you say? Have something on
me?
MARTHY--Sure I will. T'anks. [She calls.] Hey, Larry! Little
service! [He comes in.]
ANNA--Same for me.
MARTHY--Same here. [LARRY takes their glasses and goes out.]
ANNA--Why don't you come sit over here, be sociable. I'm a dead
stranger in this burg--and I ain't spoke a word with no one since
day before yesterday.
MARTHY--Sure thing. [She shuffles over to ANNA'S table and sits
down opposite her. LARRY brings the drinks and ANNA pays him.]
ANNA--Skoal! Here's how! [She drinks.]
MARTHY--Here's luck! [She takes a gulp from her schooner.]
ANNA--[Taking a package of Sweet Caporal cigarettes from her bag.]
Let you smoke in here, won't they?
MARTHY--[Doubtfully.] Sure. [Then with evident anxiety.] On'y trow
it away if yuh hear someone comin'.
ANNA--[Lighting one and taking a deep inhale.] Gee, they're fussy
in this dump, ain't they? [She puffs, staring at the table top.
MARTHY looks her over with a new penetrating interest, taking in
every detail of her face. ANNA suddenly becomes conscious of this
appraising stare--resentfully.] Ain't nothing wrong with me, is
there? You're looking hard enough.
MARTHY--[Irritated by the other's tone--scornfully.] Ain't got to
look much. I got your number the minute you stepped in the door.
ANNA--[Her eyes narrowing.] Ain't you smart! Well, I got yours,
too, without no trouble. You're me forty years from now. That's
you! [She gives a hard little laugh.]
MARTHY--[Angrily.] Is that so? Well, I'll tell you straight,
kiddo, that Marthy Owen never--[She catches herself up short--with
a grin.] What are you and me scrappin' over? Let's cut it out,
huh? Me, I don't want no hard feelin's with no one. [Extending her
hand.] Shake and forget it, huh?
ANNA--[Shakes her hand gladly.] Only too glad to. I ain't looking
for trouble. Let's have 'nother. What d'you say?
MARTHY--[Shaking her head.] Not for mine. I'm full up. And you--
Had anythin' to eat lately?
ANNA--Not since this morning on the train.
MARTHY--Then yuh better go easy on it, hadn't yuh?
ANNA--[After a moment's hesitation.] Guess you're right. I got to
meet someone, too. But my nerves is on edge after that rotten
trip.
MARTHY--Yuh said yuh was just outa the hospital?
ANNA--Two weeks ago. [Leaning over to MARTHY confidentially.] The
joint I was in out in St. Paul got raided. That was the start. The
judge give all us girls thirty days. The others didn't seem to
mind being in the cooler much. Some of 'em was used to it. But me,
I couldn't stand it. It got my goat right--couldn't eat or sleep
or nothing. I never could stand being caged up nowheres. I got
good and sick and they had to send me to the hospital. It was nice
there. I was sorry to leave it, honest!
MARTHY--[After a slight pause.] Did yuh say yuh got to meet
someone here?
ANNA--Yes. Oh, not what you mean. It's my Old Man I got to meet.
Honest! It's funny, too. I ain't seen him since I was a kid--don't
even know what he looks like--yust had a letter every now and
then. This was always the only address he give me to write him
back. He's yanitor of some building here now--used to be a sailor.
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