I ain't blaming the women. They say
"self-preservation is the first law of nature," and I guess that's
right; but sometimes when the show is over and I see them fellows with
their hair plastered back, smoking cigarettes in a [LAURA _crosses
to chair right of table and leans over back._] holder long enough to
reach from here to Harlem, and a bank-roll that would bust my pocket
and turn my head, I feel as if I'd like to get a gun and go a-shooting
around this old town.
LAURA. Jim!
JIM. Yes, I do--you bet.
LAURA. That wouldn't pay, would it?
JIM. No, they're not worth the job of sitting on that throne in Sing
Sing, and I'm too poor to go to Matteawan. But all them fellows under
nineteen and over fifty-nine ain't much use to themselves or anyone
else.
LAURA. [_Rather meditatively._] Perhaps all of them are not so bad.
JIM. [_Sits on bed._] Yes, they are,--angels and all. Last season I
had one of them shows where a rich fellow backed it on account of a
girl. We lost money and he lost his girl; then we got stuck in
Texas. I telegraphed: "Must have a thousand, or can't move." He just
answered: "Don't move." We didn't.
LAURA. But that was business.
JIM. Bad business. It took a year for some of them folks to get back
to Broadway. Some of the girls never did, and I guess never will.
LAURA. Maybe they're better off, Jim. [_Sits right of table._
JIM. Couldn't be worse. They're still in Texas. [_To himself.
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