n 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.]