A Tree Grows in Brooklyn Page #4

...her wheelbarrow

Through streets broad

and narrow

Crying cockles and mussels,

alive, alive-O

I won, I won!

Well, now, I wouldn't be too

sure about that if I was you.

But I did! I got it open before

you finished and that's the rules.

But I came up one flight two steps

at a time before I remembered.

Don't that make

a difference?

No, sir.

The rules...

And in a manner of speaking,

you never did stop me at all

because my heart kept

right on singing.

Papa, you're joking.

Well, I guess

I'll let you get away

with winning this time,

prima donna.

And where's your beautiful

mama? Finishing the hall.

She must be on the top floor

or she'd have heard you.

Well, in that case, why

ain't you getting busy?

Why ain't you

laying out my clothes?

Papa,

you always make fun.

You know you haven't

any more clothes.

Haven't any

more clothes?

What's this?

A tie.

And this? And this?

A dickey. An apron.

Them's clothes, ain't they? And you'd

better be getting that apron ironed, too.

Papa, you got a job

for tonight?

You see the palm

of that hand?

That's right where

I got the world tonight.

Where's the job, Papa?

Klommer's.

A big wedding party.

And you know something, prima

donna? There'll be plenty of tips.

Singing or waiting?

Both.

Maybe tonight will be it.

Maybe tonight he'll be

there, the impresario.

And he'll hear you sing, and

he'll put you on the stage.

And why not?

Ain't I the Brooklyn Thrush?

Papa!

And now you'd better be

getting my apron ironed.

Have it in a jiffy, Papa.

The coffee's on.

That's my prima donna.

Early one morning

I heard a maiden singing

Oh, Papa, I can't sing.

Come on, now. You're

holding up the singing.

Oh, don't deceive me

Oh, never leave me

And better singing

I never did hear.

I love to iron

for you, Papa.

You know something,

a day like this

is just like somebody

gave you a present.

Everything just right.

I wonder what people did

before they invented coffee.

This sure could be

a fine world if...

Hey, you know something,

prima donna?

You're going to make somebody

a mighty fine wife someday.

Papa!

And very pretty, too. That is,

if your nose doesn't grow crooked.

Could it really?

Honest?

No. It's the prettiest

nose in all Brooklyn.

Papa, it isn't.

Who says it isn't?

You just tell me who said it

and I'll take care of him.

Papa, you're crazy. And

you know something else?

You're not gonna be ironing like

this when that impresario comes along.

Things are gonna be different

around here. You wait and see.

Yes, Papa.

Hey.

What's the wish

you wish the most

when our ship

comes sailing in?

Well, it already

came true.

What is it?

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