es 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?