Joe (fascinated) Chicken soup?

Tom (eagerly) Yeah.

Joe Three years? Is it that long?

Tom (delighted to have the information) Yeah, sure. 1937. 1938. 1939. This is 1939, Joe.

Joe (amused) Never mind what year it is. Tell me the whole story.

Tom You took me to the doctor. You gave me money for food and clothes, and paid my room rent. Aw, Joe, you know all the different things you did.

Joe nods, turning away from Tom after each question.

Joe You in good health now?

Tom Yeah, Joe.

Joe You got clothes?

Tom Yeah, Joe.

Joe You eat three times a day. Sometimes four?

Tom Yeah, Joe. Sometimes five.

Joe You got a place to sleep?

Tom Yeah, Joe.

Joe nods. Pauses. Studies Tom carefully.

Joe Then, where the hell have you been?

Tom (humbly) Joe, I was out in the street listening to the boys.

They’re talking about the trouble down here on the waterfront.

Joe (sharply) I want you to be around when I need you.

Tom (pleased that the bawling-out is over) I won’t do it again. Joe, one guy out there says there’s got to be a revolution before anything will ever be all right.

Joe (impatient) I know all about it. Now, here. Take this money. Go up to the Emporium. You know where the Emporium is?

Tom Yeah, sure, Joe.

Joe All right. Take the elevator and go up to the fourth floor. Walk around to the back, to the toy department. Buy me a couple of dollars’ worth of toys and bring them here.

Tom (amazed) Toys? What kind of toys, Joe?

Joe Any kind of toys. Little ones that I can put on this table.

Tom What do you want toys for, Joe?

Joe (mildly angry) What?

Tom All right, all right. You don’t have to get sore at everything. What’ll people think, a big guy like me buying toys?

Joe What people?

Tom Aw, Joe, you’re always making me do crazy things for you, and I’m the guy that gets embarrassed. You just sit in this place and make me do all the dirty work.

Joe (looking away) Do what I tell you.

Tom OK, but I wish I knew why.(He makes to go.)

Joe Wait a minute. Here’s a nickel. Put it in the phonograph. Number seven. I want to hear that waltz again.

Tom Boy, I’m glad I don’t have to stay and listen to it. Joe, what do you hear in that song anyway? We listen to that song ten times a day. Why can’t we hear number six, or two, or nine? There are a lot of other numbers.

Joe (emphatically) Put the nickel in the phonograph. (Pause.) Sit down and wait till the music’s over. Then go get me some toys.

Tom OK. OK.

Joe (loudly) Never mind being a martyr about it either. The cause isn’t worth it.

Tom puts the nickel into the machine, with a ritual of impatient and efficient movement which plainly shows his lack of sympathy or enthusiasm. His manner also reveals, however, that his lack of sympathy is spurious and exaggerated. Actually, he is fascinated by the music, but is so confused by it that he pretends he dislikes it.