Joe Those three hours were the most delightful, the most sombre, and the most beautiful I have ever known.

Tom Why, Joe?

Joe Why? I’m a student. (Lifting his voice.) Tom. (Quietly.) I’m a student. I study all things. All. All. And when my study reveals something of beauty in a place or in a person where by all rights only ugliness or death should be revealed, then I know how full of goodness this life is. And that’s a good thing to know. That’s a truth I shall always seek to verify.

Lady Are you sure he’s drunk?

Man (crossing his legs) He’s either drunk, or just naturally crazy.

Tom Joe?

Joe Yeah.

Tom You won’t get sore or anything?

Joe (impatiently) What is it, Tom?

Tom Joe, where do you get all that money? You paid for the automobile. You paid for supper and the two bottles of champagne at the Half Moon Bay Restaurant. You moved Kitty out of the New York Hotel around the corner to the St Francis Hotel on Powell Street. I saw you pay her rent. I saw you give her money for new clothes. Where do you get all that money, Joe? Three years now and I’ve never asked.

Joe looks at Tom sorrowfully, a little irritated, not so much with Tom as with the world and himself, his own superiority; he speaks clearly, slowly and solemnly

Joe Now don’t be a fool, Tom. Listen carefully. If anybody’s got any money – to hoard or to throw away – you can be sure he stole it from other people. Not from rich people who can spare it, but from poor people who can’t. From their lives and from their dreams. I’m no exception. I earned the money I throw away. I stole it like everybody else does. I hurt people to get it. Loafing around this way, I still earn money. The money itself earns more. I still hurt people. I don’t know who they are, or where they are. If I did, I’d feel worse than I do. I’ve got a Christian conscience in a world that’s got no conscience at all. The world’s trying to get some sort of a social conscience, but it’s having a devil of a time trying to do that. I’ve got money. I’ll always have money, as long as this world stays the way it is. I don’t work. I don’t make anything. (He sips.) I drink. I worked when I was a kid. I worked hard. I mean hard, Tom. People are supposed to enjoy living. I got tired. (He lifts the gun and looks at it while he talks.) I decided to get even on the world. Well, you can’t enjoy living unless you work. Unless you do something. I don’t do anything. I don’t want to do anything any more. There isn’t anything I can do that won’t make me feel embarrassed. Because I can’t do simple, good things. I haven’t the patience. And I’m too smart. Money is the guiltiest thing in the world. It stinks. Now, don’t ever bother me about it again.