Swelp me Moses, if I find 'er anything like Bill's ole geezer, I'll cut 'er throat!
MANSON. And if she's like her mother? What then?
ROBERT. Why, then . . . there's allus my own. I nearly did it once.
MANSON [after a pause]. How did you come to lose her?
ROBERT [roughly]. Never you mind!
MANSON. How did you come to lose her?
ROBERT [sullenly]. Typhoid fever.
[MANSON notes the evasion with a glance. He helps ROBERT to more tea, and waits for him to speak. ROBERT wriggles under his gaze, and at last he says, reluctantly.]
Oh, it was my own fault, as I lost the kid!
MANSON. That was a sore loss, comrade.