The Girl of the Golden West by Giacomo Puccini, David Belasco Page A

the coins into the cuspidor.
The Girl saw the action and her eyes flashed with anger. The next
moment, however, she looked up at him and said more gently than any
time yet:
    "No, Jack, I can't marry you. Ah, come along—start your game
again—go on, Jack." And so saying she came out from behind the bar
and went over to the faro table with: "Whoop la! Mula! Go! Good
Lord, look at that faro table!"
    But Rance was on the verge of losing control of himself. There
was passion in his steely grey eyes when he advanced towards her,
but although the Girl saw the look she did not flinch, and met it
in a clear, straight glance.
    "Look here, Jack Rance," she said, "let's have it out right now.
I run The Polka 'cause I like it. My father taught me the business
an', well, don't you worry 'bout me—I can look after m'self. I
carry my little wepping"—and with that she touched significantly
the little pocket of her dress. "I'm independent, I'm happy, The
Polka's payin', an' it's bully!" she wound up, laughing. Then, with
one of her quick changes of mood, she turned upon him angrily and
demanded: "Say, what the devil do you mean by proposin' to me with
a wife in Noo Orleans? Now, this is a respectable saloon, an' I
don't want no more of it."
    A look of gloom came into Rance's eyes.
    "I didn't say anything—" he began.
    "Push me that Queen," interrupted the Girl, sharply, gathering
up the cards at the faro table, and pointing to one that was just
beyond her reach. But when Rance handed it to her and was moving
silently away, she added: "Ah, no offence, Jack, but I got other
idees o' married life from what you have."
    "Aw, nonsense!" came from the Sheriff in a voice that was not
free from irritation.
    The Girl glanced up at him quickly. Her mind was not the abode
of hardened convictions, but was tender to sentiment, and something
in his manner at once softening her, she said:
    "Nonsense? I dunno 'bout that. You see—" and her eyes took on a
far away look—"I had a home once an' I ain't forgot it—a home up
over our little saloon down in Soledad. I ain't forgot my father
an' my mother an' what a happy kepple they were. Lord, how they
loved each other—it was beautiful!"
    Despite his seemingly callous exterior, there was a soft spot in
the gambler's heart. Every word that the Girl uttered had its
effect on him. Now his hands, which had been clenched, opened out
and a new light came into his eyes. Suddenly, however, it was
replaced by one of anger, for the door, at that moment, was
hesitatingly pushed open, and The Sidney Duck stood with his hand
on the knob, snivelling:
    "Oh, Miss, I—"
    The Girl fairly flew over to him.
    "Say, I've heard about you! You git!" she cried; and when she
was certain that he was gone she came back and took a seat at the
table where she continued, in the same reminiscent vein as before:
"I can see mother now fussin' over father an' pettin' 'im, an'
father dealin' faro—Ah, he was square! An' me a kid, as little as a
kitten, under the table sneakin' chips for candy. Talk 'bout
married life—that was a little heaven! Why, mother tho't so much o'
that man, she was so much heart an' soul with 'im that she learned
to be the best case-keeper you ever saw. Many a sleeper she caught!
You see, when she played, she was playin' for the ol' man." She
stopped as if overcome with emotion, and then added with great
feeling: "I guess everybody's got some remembrance o' their mother
tucked away. I always see mine at the faro table with her foot
snuggled up to Dad's, an' the light o' lovin' in her eyes. Ah, she
was a lady…!" Impulsively she rose and walked over to the bar.
    "No," she went on, when behind it once more, "I couldn't share
that table an' The Polka with any man—unless there was a heap o'
carin' back of it. No, I couldn't, Jack, I couldn't…"
    By this time the Sheriff's anger had completely vanished;
dejection was plainly written on every line of his face.
    "Well, I guess the boys were right; I am a Chinaman,"