FLOSSIE [nervously]: I don’t know. I don’t know. Georgie. . . .

THE GENTLEMAN: What?

FLOSSIE: Could we go away somewhere? I mean, just for a while, till things blow over . . .

THE GENTLEMAN: Till what blows over? I ain’t done nothing. I ain’t got nothing to be scared about. Go on inside. You broads are all alike. No guts. Want me to run out? What should I take it on the lam for? I ain’t done nothing. . . .

FLOSSIE: Honey, I wish you’d come on inside, now. It’s too cold for you to be standing out here like this. Your martini’s waiting, Honey. Come on in, now, and have your drink. Then we’ll go up to my place, Honey. It’ll be nice and warm up there. We’ll buy a bottle of gin and mix some drinks. We’ll have a swell time. We won’t worry ’bout nothing up at my place, Georgie. We’ll just forget all about the old Patch. C’mon, Honey! Aw, c’mon. . . .

THE GENTLEMAN: Flossie . . . I was just thinkin’. . . I been in this racket about long enough. . . I saved up some dough. . . . Yeah, some real dough . . .

FLOSSIE [exited]: Yeah? Gee, that’s swell! How much you saved up, sweetheart? Enough to buy little Flossie a nice Christmas present?

THE GENTLEMAN: More than that.

FLOSSIE [delighted]: How much, how much?

THE GENTLEMAN [after a slight pause]: A couple of grand.

FLOSSIE: A couple of grand! Gee! How did you get hold of all that dough?

THE GENTLEMAN [sharply]: Never mind about that! Are you game? There might be a little trouble, you know.

FLOSSIE: Game for what?

THE GENTLEMAN: Skipping out with me. Down to Florida. That’s where the real gentlemen go—yeah. For the winter season. Palm Beach. Or Miami. That’s where the cream of society goes this time of year, Flossie. That’s where they put on the real dog. They sit in little buggies, see, and there’s boys pulling them around, up and down the board-walk, see. . . .

FLOSSIE: The boardwalk!

THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah. And along the beach. . . .

FLOSSIE: The beach!

THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah, and dancing at night under the stars.

FLOSSIE: Under the stars!

THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah, and the ocean, Honey, the big, blue Atlantic. . . .

FLOSSIE: The ocean!

THE GENTLEMAN: Yeah, and them waves coming in! Boy, oh, boy! The sun warm as summer. We’ll lie on the beach, Honey and feel the sun on our backs warm as summer. We’ll rent the bridal suite, that’s what we’ll do.

FLOSSIE [nearly overcome with rapture]: Oh! The bridal suite! And me, Georgie, me a real bride?

THE GENTLEMAN: Sure! You a real bride. And me a bridegroom. Why not? With a couple of grand, sweetheart, we can really live. No more cheap stuff. I’m a gentleman, see. A real gent. I was born that way. I can’t help it. I was born to be a gentleman. I ain’t no cheap rat like the Patch.