Driftwood:
Could he sail tomorrow?
Fiorello:
You pay him enough money, he could sail yesterday. How much you pay him?
Driftwood:
Well, I don't know... [muttering to himself] Let's see, a thousand dollars a night... I'm entitled to a small profit... How about ten dollars a night?
Fiorello:
Ten? Ten dolla— ha ha ha ha ha! I'll take it...
Driftwood:
All right, but remember, I get 10% for negotiating the deal.
Fiorello:
Yes, and I get 10% for being the manager. How much does that leave him?
Driftwood:
That leaves him— uh, $8.00.
Fiorello:
Eight dollars, huh? Well, he sends a five dollars home to his mother...
Driftwood:
Well, that leaves him $3.00.
Fiorello:
Can he live in New York on $3.00?
Driftwood:
Like a prince. Of course he won't be able to eat, but he can live like a prince. However, out of that $3.00, you know, he'll have to pay an income tax...
Fiorello:
Ah, there's income tax...
Driftwood:
...there's a federal tax, and a state tax, and a city tax, and a street tax, and a sewer tax.
Fiorello:
How much does this come to?
Driftwood:
Well, I figure if he doesn't sing too often, he can break even.
Fiorello:
All right, we take it.