frank (beginning to undress -- putting his coat on the back of a chair) No, I'm tired. I'll see you in the morning, before I leave.

Carp: Going away again?

Frank: South. Tex-tiles. There's hell down there in tex-tiles. (He sits on the other side of the room and looks at a paper.)

Carp: I don't begin to understand it -- tex-tiles! What's it his business if the workers in tex-tiles don't make good wages!

Mr. Bonaparte: Frank, he fight-a for eat, for good life. Why not!