MRS. POCCIOTTI: The boy that she went steady with.

MISS MORGAN: Mrs. Pocciotti, you don’t mean to say that that boy is still permitted to see your daughter?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Yes.

MISS MORGAN: But you said he got married?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Yes. To that German girl. His folks was against our religion.

MISS MORGAN: And still he comes here? Married? He sees your daughter?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: She won’t let nobody else in except Max.

MISS MORGAN: Lets him? In the room? With the girl?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Yes.

MISS MORGAN: She knows that he’s married? Of course she knows about that?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: How does she know what I know? I dunno. I can’t tell you what I dunno.

MISS MORGAN: He goes in the girl’s room. What do they talk about?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Talk about? Nothing.

MISS MORGAN: They talk about—nothing?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Nothing.

MISS MORGAN: You mean they don’t talk?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Excuse while I take off the table. [Removes a cloth from table.]

MISS MORGAN: Then what—what—what do they do in there, Mrs. Pocciotti?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: I dunno. It’s dark. I can’t tell. He goes in and stays and comes out.

MISS MORGAN: Do I understand you correctly? The man, married, your daughter in such a condition, still you allow him to visit the girl in the dark, you leave them alone in there, you don’t know what they’re doing?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Yes. She likes him to go in there. It makes her be not so much noise. You know. When he don’t come around a few days, she takes on something awful. Hollering, screaming, never you heard such bad names! Upstairs—complains! When he comes—right away better! Eats what he brings her! That way it helps a lot, too. We don’t got so much in the house. Maybe relief she don’t come. Max—loaf of bread, cheese, pickle, maybe some coffee even. It helps. [Lucio appears at window on fire-escape.]

LUCIO: Mama!

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Yes.

LUCIO: Gimme two nickels. I bet Jeeps he couldn’t lick me an’ he did an’ he says he’ll beat me up worse if I don’t come acrost wit’ the money!

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Shut up! [Jerks thumb at Miss Morgan’s back. Lucio looks startled and clatters downstairs. Shrill cries from below.]

MISS MORGAN: I suppose you know, Mrs. Pocciotti, that you can be held liable for this?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: What?

MISS MORGAN: How long has it been going on? Between this man and your daughter?

MRS. POCCIOTTI: Max? I think maybe God knows.

MISS MORGAN: Mrs. Pocciotti, I have the feeling that you’re deliberately evading my questions! That doesn’t improve matters any. Cooperation from you will simplify things a great deal.

MRS. POCCIOTTI: You speak funny things. I don’t think. I try, but I don’t make it out.

MISS MORGAN: I don’t think you try very hard. Now if you concentrate less on that aimless sweeping back and forth with a broom—if you listen to what I ask you—if you try to give sensible answers—things will get on much better. —How long has your daughter and this German boy been going together?