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Le Zombie, v. 5, issue 3, whole no. 50, November-December 1942
Page 10
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**(10)** Al: (Throws down cards. Ignores dirty look from Pong.) What are we up to? Walt: (Without looking up) About eighty, I'd say. And why was I ignored? Pong: Well, get in then. Abby Lu: Why is the dummy in? Walt: Poo on the yobber! (Throws in cards) Frank: (Gloatingly) Up ten! Ecco: (Silently plays Arab. Folds his cards and steals away) Niel: (Loudly whistles a discordant tune.) Up ten more. Jane: Silly game! No one has trumps. Pong: And ten more! Tommy: (Eyes glitter greedily, but native caution sets in.) Call. Frank: (Plays game with eyebrows for a moment.) Call. Niel: (shrugs) Call. Abby Lu: Call whom? We're all here. Tommy: (Jumps gun. Spreads four nines on table.) Guess it's mine boys. Niel: (Also ignores proper sequence. Lays down seven-high straight flush.) Look at these! Tommy: (Stares. Gulps rapidly. Leaves table, goes over to corner of room, and recites short poem with gestures. Finally sinks to the floor making burbling noises with his lips.) Niel: (Shrugs) Well, guess I better start counting it. Frank: Wait! (Triumphantly spreads royal flush in clubs on the table) Niel: (Blinks vacantly a moment. Then wanders away barking like a dog) Pong: (Quietly starts raking in the chips.) Frank: (Pushes back in chain. Half rises, making gesture towards hip in approved Western fashion.) Hold on thar podner. Thet money is mine! Pong: (Says nothing. Eloquently displays a royal flush in hearts.) Frank: (Reels slightly, gasping asthmatically. Finally drops in a dead faint.) Pong: (Remains seated, quivering with a poorly suppressed fit of gruesome mirth.) (Curtain falls for a moment to show passage of time.) (Breech-clouted, bearded man, suitably accoutered with scythe and hourglass, enters left, totters across front of stage, and exits right.) (Curtain Rises) (Game appears nearly over. Chips are all stacked in front of Pong. The rest of the players sit about in various stages of dispair, exhaustion and disgust.) Pong: (Waves hands in expansive gesture.) Anybody want any more? Al: (Searches pockets. Comes up with a lone dime. Looks at it a minute, then puts it back.) (The rest of the players show no further interest. Frank lies snoring on the floor.) Pong: (Gets up. Trips over Frank and sprawls headlong. Money, chips, and dozens of aces, kings, queens, jacks and tens of hearts spill over the floor.) Tommy: (Looks interested, then startled.) Lookie! (Points at cards scattered over floor.) Frank: (Wakes up partially.) Royal flushes! Millions of 'em! (Whole group suddenly emit yell of comprehension and pounce on Pong, burying under a pile of vengeful humanity.) CURTAIN.
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**(10)** Al: (Throws down cards. Ignores dirty look from Pong.) What are we up to? Walt: (Without looking up) About eighty, I'd say. And why was I ignored? Pong: Well, get in then. Abby Lu: Why is the dummy in? Walt: Poo on the yobber! (Throws in cards) Frank: (Gloatingly) Up ten! Ecco: (Silently plays Arab. Folds his cards and steals away) Niel: (Loudly whistles a discordant tune.) Up ten more. Jane: Silly game! No one has trumps. Pong: And ten more! Tommy: (Eyes glitter greedily, but native caution sets in.) Call. Frank: (Plays game with eyebrows for a moment.) Call. Niel: (shrugs) Call. Abby Lu: Call whom? We're all here. Tommy: (Jumps gun. Spreads four nines on table.) Guess it's mine boys. Niel: (Also ignores proper sequence. Lays down seven-high straight flush.) Look at these! Tommy: (Stares. Gulps rapidly. Leaves table, goes over to corner of room, and recites short poem with gestures. Finally sinks to the floor making burbling noises with his lips.) Niel: (Shrugs) Well, guess I better start counting it. Frank: Wait! (Triumphantly spreads royal flush in clubs on the table) Niel: (Blinks vacantly a moment. Then wanders away barking like a dog) Pong: (Quietly starts raking in the chips.) Frank: (Pushes back in chain. Half rises, making gesture towards hip in approved Western fashion.) Hold on thar podner. Thet money is mine! Pong: (Says nothing. Eloquently displays a royal flush in hearts.) Frank: (Reels slightly, gasping asthmatically. Finally drops in a dead faint.) Pong: (Remains seated, quivering with a poorly suppressed fit of gruesome mirth.) (Curtain falls for a moment to show passage of time.) (Breech-clouted, bearded man, suitably accoutered with scythe and hourglass, enters left, totters across front of stage, and exits right.) (Curtain Rises) (Game appears nearly over. Chips are all stacked in front of Pong. The rest of the players sit about in various stages of dispair, exhaustion and disgust.) Pong: (Waves hands in expansive gesture.) Anybody want any more? Al: (Searches pockets. Comes up with a lone dime. Looks at it a minute, then puts it back.) (The rest of the players show no further interest. Frank lies snoring on the floor.) Pong: (Gets up. Trips over Frank and sprawls headlong. Money, chips, and dozens of aces, kings, queens, jacks and tens of hearts spill over the floor.) Tommy: (Looks interested, then startled.) Lookie! (Points at cards scattered over floor.) Frank: (Wakes up partially.) Royal flushes! Millions of 'em! (Whole group suddenly emit yell of comprehension and pounce on Pong, burying under a pile of vengeful humanity.) CURTAIN.
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