Lucille
And a red one when her husband’s home.
Fred
Shocked.
No, I was thinking about her father. I wouldn’t write about those kind of women—I got no sympathy for them.
Lucille
I guess you’re right.
Fred
I was thinking of another idea on the way up here. Maybe a song about the melting pots—all the immigrants from overseas who’ve come to the Land of Liberty. Take the Jews—do you know there’s nearly two million Jews in New York City alone?
Maxie
What do you mean alone?
Fred
And then there’s the Hall of Fame, up to Washington Heights. They got everybody up there. Washington, Lincoln, Longfellow. They got two dozen—what do you call ’em—busts?
Lucille
Sweetly, to Paul .
That’s the place for you, dear.
Fred
No. A man’s got to be dead for twenty-five years.