Mrs. C. (beginning to put in some sugar with the tongs into the cup of coffee). Not a hundred plunks, dear. You mean a hundred dollars.
Mr. C. (a little crossly). I mean just what I say—a hundred plunks! Perhaps if he ate with his knife and said “ain’t” the way I do he would never have borrowed them hundred plunks.
Mrs. C. (in utter horror). “Them hundred plunks!” Oh, John!
Mr. C. (angrily). Ye-es, them hundred “bucks”! (More angrily.) Now, see here, Martha Smith, I am a ve-ry patient man. My father was a patient man and my mother was the most patientest woman you ever did see; but they have had their limits, and so have I. (Bringing his hand down firmly upon the table.) And when I get real riled I ain’t nearly as agreeable as aforetimes. (Pauses for a moment as though to emphasise his remarks.) As I said, I am a ve-ry patient man, but I have my limit. Now, Martha Smith, you have been a-pestering me all breakfast time, and a-correcting me on my expressions of speech. Also, you have been fault-finding with my table manners, and I have got ve-ry tired of it. Now, I want you to understand, Martha Smith, right here, that I won’t tolerate another word from you (he rises and then bangs his fist hard upon the table), and I’ll say “it ain’t,” “it hain’t,” “it don’t” as often as I darn please! And I’ll eat with my knife or my fingers as often as I darn please! (Raising his voice still more.) Do you understand that, Martha Smith? (He glares angrily at her.)
Mrs. C. (very coolly and very deliberately). Mr. Clark, you are so amusing when you get “real riled.” If you could only see yourself (mimics him) “when you ain’t nearly as agreeable as aforetimes.” Now, I never get angry myself, never. And at any rate not after seeing you in a tantrum. It’s too disgusting. You are not a handsome man, even when you are agreeable, Mr. Clark; but when you are really “riled,” my! you’re homely, as homely as—well, words fail me! (She laughs somewhat irritatingly.)
Mr. C. (walking furiously up and down the left side of the room, savagely). If you only was a man for a minute!
Mrs. C. (more coolly and deliberately). I wish I were for only half a minute.
Mr. C. (walking more furiously, speaking more savagely). It is no wonder your first husband died!
Mrs. C. (rising quickly from her chair). What do you mean, Mr. Clark? (Then she reseats herself just as quickly.) No, I never get angry myself, never, and I’m not going to become angry this time. (She rises again and carries the cup of coffee she has poured out, placing it at his end of the table.) You see how calm I am, Mr. Clark—how very calm. (She returns to her seat with a martyr-like smile.) If I were you I should drink that coffee before it gets cool.
Mr. C. (pausing in his walking angrily). I don’t want any coffee! (More angrily.) Martha Smith, I asked you if you understood?