"Wha' a mattah, Coggins?"
"Say something, no!"
"Massie, come hay, an' see de gal picknee."
" ... open yo' mout' no, what's a mattah?"
Coggins flew to the rainwater keg. Knocked the swizzle stick—relic of Sissie's pop manufactures—behind it, tilting over the empty keg.
"Get up, Beryl, get up, wha' a mattah, sick?"
"Lif' she up, pappy."
"Yo' move out o' de way, Mistah Rufus, befo'...."
"Don't, Sissie, don't lick she!"