larry adds meaningfully.

The rules of the house are that drinks may be served at all hours.

PARRITT

Forcing a smile.

I get you. But, hell, I’m just about broke.

He catches rocky’s and joe’s contemptuous glances—quickly.

Oh, I know you guys saw—You think I’ve got a roll. Well, you’re all wrong. I’ll show you.

He takes a small wad of dollar bills from his pocket.

It’s all ones. And I’ve got to live on it till I get a job.

Then with defensive truculence.

You think I fixed up a phony, don’t you? Why the hell would I?

Where would I get a real roll? You don’t get rich doing what I’ve been doing. Ask Larry. You’re lucky in the Movement if you have enough to eat.

larry regards him puzzledly.

ROCKY

Coldly.

What’s de song and dance about? We ain’t said nuttin’.

PARRITT

Lamely—placating them now.

Why, I was just putting you right. But I don’t want you to think I’m

a tightwad. I’ll buy a drink if you want one.

JOE

Cheering up.

If? Man, when I don’t want a drink, you call de morgue, tell dem come take Joe’s body away, ’cause he’s sure enuf dead. Gimme de bottle quick, Rocky, before he changes his mind!

ROCKY passes him the bottle and glass. He pours a brimful drink and

tosses it down his throat, and hands the bottle and glass to LARRY.

ROCKY

I’ll take a cigar when I go in de bar. What’re you havin’?

PARRITT

Nothing. I’m on the wagon. What’s the damage?

He holds out a dollar bill.

ROCKY

Fifteen cents.

He makes change from his pocket.

PARRITT

Must be some booze!

LARRY

It’s cyanide cut with carbolic acid to give it a mellow flavor. Here’s

luck!

He drinks.

ROCKY

Guess I’ll get back in de bar and catch a coupla winks before opening-up time.

He squeezes through the tables and disappears, right-rear, behind the curtain. In the section of bar at right, he comes forward and sits at the table and slumps back, closing his eyes and yawning.

JOE

Stares calculatingly at parritt and then looks away—aloud to himself, philosophically.

One-drink guy. Dat well done run dry. No hope till Harry’s birthday party. ’Less Hickey shows up.

He turns to LARRY.

If Hickey comes, Larry, you wake me up if you has to bat me wid a chair.

He settles himself and immediately falls asleep.

PARRITT

Who’s Hickey?

LARRY

A hardware drummer. An old friend of Harry HOPE’s and all the gang. He’s a grand guy. He comes here twice a year regularly on a periodical drunk and blows in all his money.

PARRITT

With a disparaging glance around.

Must be hard up for a place to hang out.

LARRY

It has its points for him. He never runs into anyone he knows in his business here.

PARRITT

Lowering his voice.

Yes, that’s what I want, too. I’ve got to stay under cover, Larry, like I told you last night.

LARRY

You did a lot of hinting. You didn’t tell me anything.

PARRITT

You can guess, can’t you?

He changes the subject abruptly.

I’ve been in some dumps on the Coast, but this is the limit. What kind of joint is it, anyway?

LARRY

With a sardonic grin.

What is it? It’s the No Chance Saloon. It’s Bedrock Bar, The End of the Line Café, The Bottom of the Sea Rathskeller! Don’t you notice the beautiful calm in the atmosphere? That’s because it’s the last harbor. No one here has to worry about where they’re going next, because there is no farther they can go. It’s a great comfort to them. Although even here they keep up the appearances of life with a few harmless pipe dreams about their yesterdays and tomorrows, as you’ll see for yourself if you’re here long.

PARRITT

Stares at him curiously.

What’s your pipe dream, Larry?

LARRY

Hiding resentment.

Oh, I’m the exception.