ALGERNON:  (Up to her.) Why curse you, I’ll—­

GLADYS:  Strike, you coward! (Chord.) (ALGERNON conducts Chord.)

ALGERNON:  Coward!!!! (He conducts same Chord an Octave higher.)

GLADYS:  Yes, coward. . . .  Now go, and never cross this threshold again!!

ALGERNON:  (Going up stage.) So, I’m fired with the threshold gag? 
Very well, I go, but I shall return. . . .  I shall return! (Exits.)

PHONSIE:  (Blows pea-blower after him.) Who was that big stiff, mommer, the instalment man?

GLADYS:  No, darling, he is the floor-walker in a slaughter house.

PHONSIE:  Mommer, when do I eat?

GLADYS:  Alas, we cannot buy food, we are penniless.

PHONSIE:  If you would only put your jewels in soak, mommer.

GLADYS:  What, hock me sparks?  Never!  I may starve, yes, but I’ll starve like a lady in all my finery!

PHONSIE:  Mommer, I want to eat.

GLADYS:  What shall I do?  My child hungry, dying, without even the price of a shave!  Oh, my heart is like my brother on the railroad, breaking—­breaking—­breaking—­(Weeps.)

PHONSIE:  Ah, don’t cry, mommer.  You’ll have the whole place damp. 
You keep on sewing and I’ll keep on dying.

GLADYS:  Very well. (Drying eyes.) But first I’ll go out and get a can of beer.  Thank goodness, we always have beer money.

PHONSIE:  Oh yes, mommer, do rush the growler.  Me coppers is toastin’.  And don’t forget your misery cape and the music that goes with you, will you, mommer?

GLADYS:  I’ll get those.

PHONSIE:  And you’d better take some handkerchiefs.  You may want to cry.  But don’t cry in the beer, mommer, it makes it flat.

GLADYS:  Thank you, baby, I do love to weep.  Oh, if we only had a blizzard, I’d take you out in your nightie.  But wait, sweetheart, wait till it goes below zero.  Then you shall go out with mommer, bare-footed.

PHONSIE:  Don’t stand chewing the rag with the bartender, will you, mommer?

GLADYS:  Only till he puts a second head on the beer. (Exit R.)

PHONSIE:  Gee, it’s fierce to be a stage child and dying.  I wonder where my popper is?  I want my popper—­I want my popper. (Bawls.)

MOE REISS:  (Enters.) Why, what is the matter, my little man?

PHONSIE:  Oh, I’m so lonely, I want my popper.

MOE REISS:  And where is your popper?

PHONSIE:  Mommer says he is in Philadelphia. (Sniffles.)

MOE REISS:  (Lifts hat reverently.) Dead, and his child doesn’t know.  And where is your mama?

PHONSIE:  Oh, she’s went out to chase the can.

MOE REISS:  And what is your name, my little man?

PHONSIE:  Alphonso.  Ain’t that practically the limit?

MOE REISS:  Alphonso?  I once had a little boy named Alphonso, who might have been about your age.