by Eugene O'Neill (Author)

He seems broader, fiercer, more truculent, more powerful, more sure of himself than the rest. They respect his superior strength--the grudging respect of fear. Then, too, he represents to them a self-expression, the very last word in what they are, their most highly developed individual. VOICES--Gif me trink dere, you! 'Ave a wet! Salute! Gesundheit! Skoal! Drunk as a lord, God stiffen you! Here's how! Luck! Pass back that bottle, damn you! Pourin' it down his neck! Ho, Froggy! Where the devil have you been? La Touraine. I hit him smash in yaw, py Gott! Jenkins--the First--he's a rotten swine-- And the coppers nabbed him--and I run-- I like peer better. It don't pig head gif you. A slut, I'm sayin'! She robbed me aslape-- To hell with 'em all! You're a bloody liar! Say dot again! [Commotion. Two men about to fight are pulled apart.]

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