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HUNSECKER
Mr. Falco, let it be said at once,
is a man of FORTY faces, not one,
none too pretty and ALL deceptive.
See that grin? It's the charming
street urchin's face. It's part of
his "helpless" act - he throws
himself on your mercy. I skip the
pleading nervous bit that sometimes
blends over into bluster. The
moist grateful eye is a favorite
face with him - it frequently ties
in with the act of boyish candor:
he's talking straight from the
heart, get it? He's got about
half-a-dozen faces for the ladies,
but the real cut one to me is the
quick dependable chap - nothing he
won't do for you in a pinch. At
least, so he says! Tonight Mr.
Falco, whom I did not invite to sit
at this table, is about to show in
his last and most pitiful role:
pale face with tongue hanging out.
In brief, gentlemen and Jersey
Lilly, the boy sitting with us is a
hungry press agent and fully up to
all the tricks of his very slimy
trade!

Hunsecker has started his speech lightly, but it has built
up to enough cold contempt and feeling to embarrass and
intimidate the others at the table. In conclusion,
Hunsecker, his eyes on Sidney, picks up a cigarette and
waits expectantly...

                     [b]HUNSECKER[/b]
               [i](quietly)[/i]
        Match me, Sidney...

                     [b]SIDNEY[/b]
              [i] (coolly)[/i]
        Not just this minute, J.J....[/center]

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