Girls that talk dirty no reg and free
His pointed tan buttoned shoes, faded pink shirt and bright tie belong to the same vintage. Bejees, you'll pay up tomorrow, or I'll start a Harry Hope Revolution! The boys tell me there's fine pickings these days, and I'm not getting rich here, sitting with a parched throat waiting for Harry Hope to buy a drink. She used to tell me, "I don't know what you can see in that worthless, drunken, petty-larceny brother of mine. (She waves to Larry--affectionately) Hello, Old Wise Guy!
Still, he manages to preserve an atmosphere of nattiness and there is nothing dirty about his appearance. The nose is thin and his lips are not noticeably thick. I'll tie a dispossess bomb to your tails that'll blow you out in the street! (The witticism delights him and he bursts into a shrill cackle. (acidly) Any time you only take one sip of a drink, you'll have lockjaw and paralysis! "Good old Bess." Bejees, she'd never forgive me if she knew I had you two bums living in her flat, throwing ashes and cigar butts on her carpet. "That Pat Mc Gloin is the biggest drunken grafter that ever disgraced the police force," she used to say to me. The fact that he was a crooked old bucket-shop bastard has no bearing on your case. It was composed in a wanton moment by the Dean of the Divinity School on a moonlight night in July, 1776, while sobering up in a Turkish bath. (He glances reproachfully at Hope.) WILLIE--Of course, you'll be reinstated, Mac. If I had my way," she'd say, "he'd get booted out in the gutter on his fat behind." Sometimes she didn't say behind, either.
In the back room, Larry Slade and Hugo Kalmar are at the table at left-front, Hugo in a chair facing right, Larry at rear of table facing front, with an empty chair between them. He is dressed in threadbare black clothes and his white shirt is frayed at collar and cuffs, but everything about him is fastidiously clean. There is a foreign atmosphere about him, the stamp of an alien radical, a strong resemblance to the type Anarchist as portrayed, bomb in hand, in newspaper cartoons. You get the impression, too, that he must have real ability in his line. Chuck, Rocky and the three girls have dressed up for the occasion. ROCKY--(stung) You broads better watch your step or-- PEARL--(defiantly) Or what? It'll be twelve o'clock and Harry's boithday before long. (grins good-naturedly) Hell, Baby, what's eatin' yuh?
He is asleep now, bent forward in his chair, his arms folded on the table, his head resting sideways on his arms. He is tall, raw-boned, with coarse straight white hair, worn long and raggedly cut. But I says, "Sure ting, Honey Boy, I'll be only too glad." So I steered him into a side street where it was dark and propped him against a wall and give him a frisk. Jees, I ain't lyin', he begins to laugh, de big sap! You can't miss it." He must be swimmin' in de North River yet! Cora looks around the room.) Say, Chuck's kiddin' about de iceman a minute ago reminds me. There is an efficient, businesslike approach in his manner, and his eyes can take you in shrewdly at a glance. Cora is arranging a bouquet of flowers in a vase, the vase being a big schooner glass from the bar, on top of the piano. All I'm tinkin' is, flowers is dat louse Hickey's stunt. ROCKY--Yeah, Chuck, it's like I'm tellin' dese broads about de cake. (bitterly) Jees, ever since he woke up, yuh can't hold him. MARGIE--Well, he's payin' for everything, ain't he? What gets my goat is de way he's tryin' to run de whole dump and everyone in it.
ACT TWO Scene--Back room, around midnight of the same day. The renting of rooms on the upper floors, under the Raines-Law loopholes, makes the establishment legally a hotel and gives it the privilege of serving liquor in the back room of the bar after closing hours and on Sundays, provided a meal is served with the booze, thus making a back room legally a hotel restaurant. (looking around at the others, who have forgotten their drinks) What's the matter, everybody? But you'd better make sure first it's the real Mc Coy and not poison. I've watched many cases of almost fatal teetotalism, but they all came out of it completely cured and as drunk as ever. PEARL--(turns on him--hard and bitter) Aw right, Rocky.
ACT THREE Scene--Bar and a section of the back room--morning of the following day. This food provision was generally circumvented by putting a property sandwich in the middle of each table, an old desiccated ruin of dust-laden bread and mummified ham or cheese which only the drunkest yokel from the sticks ever regarded as anything but a noisome table decoration. HOPE--(disturbed--angrily) You bughouse I-Won't-Work harp, who asked you to shove in an oar? Just because he has your number--(He immediately feels ashamed of this taunt and adds apologetically) Bejees, Larry, you're always croaking about something to do with death. My opinion is the poor sap is temporarily bughouse from overwork. It's the deadliest habit known to science, a great physician once told me. He was positively the only doctor in the world who claimed that rattlesnake oil, rubbed on the prat, would cure heart failure in three days. They have all forgotten their uneasiness about him now and ignore him.) LEWIS--(tipsily) Well, now that our little Robespierre has got the daily bit of guillotining off his chest, tell me more about your doctor friend, Ed. The last time we got paralyzed together he told me: "This game will get me yet, Ed.
The third row of tables, four chairs to one and six to the other, is against the rear wall on either side of the door. ROCKY--(excited, comes back from the bar, forgetting the drinks) You seen Hickey? His eyes have the twinkle of a humor which delights in kidding others but can also enjoy equally a joke on himself. (He forces a cackle.) HICKEY--(grinning) Oh, hell, Governor! There are two necktie boxes, two cigar boxes, a fifth containing a half dozen handkerchiefs, the sixth is a square jeweler's watch box. ROCKY--He just gives yuh an earful of dat line of bull about yuh got to be honest wid yourself and not kid yourself, and have de guts to be what yuh are.
At right of this dividing curtain is a section of the barroom, with the end of the bar seen at rear, a door to the hall at left of it. Light comes from the street windows off right, the gray subdued light of early morning in a narrow street. He has a head much too big for his body, a high forehead, crinkly long black hair streaked with gray, a square face with a pug nose, a walrus mustache, black eyes which peer nearsightedly from behind thick-lensed spectacles, tiny hands and feet. He exudes a friendly, generous personality that makes everyone like him on sight. You don't think I'd come around here peddling some brand of temperance bunk, do you? Just because I'm through with the stuff don't mean I'm going Prohibition. As the curtain rises, Cora, Chuck, Hugo, Larry, Margie, Pearl and Rocky are discovered. (They glare at him truculently.) ROCKY--Say, what de hell's got into youse? (For the moment this argument subsides.) CORA--(over her shoulder to Chuck--acidly) A guy what can't see flowers is pretty must be some dumbbell. Well, if I was as dumb as you--(then mollifyingly) Jees, yuh got your scrappin' pants on, ain't yuh?
As slovenly as Hugo is neat, his clothes are dirty and much slept in. CORA--(with a business-like air) I picked twelve bucks offa him. His clothes are those of a successful drummer whose territory consists of minor cities and small towns--not flashy but conspicuously spic and span. (He chuckles and the others laugh.) HICKEY--(earnestly) No, honest, Harry. He is staring before him in frowning, disturbed meditation. MARGIE--(challengingly) Well, anyways, it's some cake, ain't it?
But at Harry Hope's, Hope being a former minor Tammanyite and still possessing friends, this food technicality is ignored as irrelevant, except during the fleeting alarms of reform agitation. LARRY--(a bit shamefaced) Well, so have I liked you. I remember well his saying to me, "You are naturally delicate, Ed, but if you drink a pint of bad whiskey before breakfast every evening, and never work if you can help it, you may live to a ripe old age. He strikes me as the only bloody sensible medico I ever heard of. Kept his nose to the grindstone and sold one bottle of snake oil too many. You see before you a broken man, a martyr to medical science. You won't believe me, but this last year there was actually one night I had so many patients, I didn't even have time to get drunk. PEARL--(accepts the apology gratefully) Sure, I was mad, too, Cora.
Even Hope's back room is not a separate room, but simply the rear of the barroom divided from the bar by drawing a dirty black curtain across the room. It's staying sober and working that cuts men off in their prime." (While he is talking, they turn to him with eager grins. I think we should appoint him house physician here without a moment's delay. The shock to my system brought on a stroke which, as a doctor, I recognized was the beginning of the end." Poor old Doc! "I hate to go before my task is completed, Ed," he sobbed. CORA--(lining up with Pearl and Margie--indignantly) Jees, Rocky, dat's a fine hell of a ting to say to two goils dat's been as good to yuh as Poil and Margie!
All four chairs at the middle table, front, are occupied. Margie whispers) Yuh sap, don't yuh know enough not to kid him on dat? PEARL--(admiringly) Jees, I'll bet he'd give yuh an awful beatin', too, once he started. MARGIE--Anyway, we wouldn't keep no pimp, like we was reg'lar old whores. Jees, when Chuck's on de wagon, dey never lay off dat dope! MARGIE--And her on de turf long before me and you was! Jees, I bet Cora don't know which end of de cow has de horns! (There is the noise of a door opening in the hall and the sound of a man's and woman's arguing voices.) ROCKY--Here's your chance. (Cora and Chuck look in from the hallway and then come in. I don't give a damn how drunk yuh get, the way we are, but I don't wanta be married to no soak. Den she beefs we won't be married a month before I'll trow it in her face she was a tart. Why should I kick as long as yuh lay off it and don't do no cheatin' wid de iceman or nobody? Hickey comes forward to shake hands with Hope--with affectionate heartiness) How goes it, Governor? Rocky begins setting out drinks, whiskey glasses with chasers, and a bottle for each table, starting with Larry's table. Hope goes on with excited pleasure.) Bejees, Hickey, it seems natural to see your ugly, grinning map. (They all drink, but Hickey drinks only his chaser.) HOPE--Bejees, is that a new stunt, drinking your chaser first? CORA--(standing back from the piano to regard the flower effect) How's dat, Kid?
Joe Mott sits at left front of the table, facing front. And bot' of 'em arguin' all de time, Cora sayin' she's scared to marry him because he'll go on drunks again. PEARL--And him swearin', de big liar, he'll never go on no more periodicals! (with deeper disgust) Jees, can yuh picture a good bar-keep like Chuck diggin' spuds? Cora is a thin peroxide blonde, a few years older than Pearl and Margie, dressed in similar style, her round face showing more of the wear and tear of her trade than theirs, but still with traces of a doll-like prettiness. " (He gives her a rough hug.) Dat's on de level, Baby. HOPE--(enthusiastically) Bejees, Hickey, you old bastard, it's good to see you! (with a scornful nod to Cora) This dumb broad was tryin' to tell us you'd changed, but you ain't a damned bit. HICKEY--No, I forgot to tell Rocky--You'll have to excuse me, boys and girls, but I'm off the stuff. (They stare at him in amazed incredulity.) HOPE--What the hell--(then with a wink at the others, kiddingly) Sure! CHUCK--(grumpily) What de hell do I know about flowers? (Cora goes back to give the schooner of flowers a few more touches.) MARGIE--(admiring the cake) Some cake, huh, Poil?
Behind him, facing right-front, is Piet Wetjoen ("The General"). An' den her pretendin'--But it gives me a pain to talk about it. When bot' of 'em was dragged up in dis ward and ain't never been nearer a farm dan Coney Island! I hoid crickets once on my cousin's place in Joisey. Chuck is a tough, thick-necked, barrel-chested Italian-American, with a fat, amiable, swarthy face. HOPE--(closes his eyes--to himself with a gratified chuckle) Bejees, I'll bet Bessie's turning over in her grave! Chuck takes an empty chair from Hope's table and puts it by hers and sits down. I don't want to know a damned thing about your business. (He kisses her.) CORA--(kissing him) Aw, yuh big tramp! (Hickey shakes hands with Mosher and Mc Gloin; leans right to shake hands with Margie and Pearl; moves to the middle table to shake hands with Lewis, Joe Mott, Wetjoen and Jimmy; waves to Willie, Larry and Hugo. CORA--Yuh can see dey're pretty, can't yuh, yuh big dummy?