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