"All these years I been preaching to you, even before I joined Forest Park Club out there. 'Don't get soft, Mae. Keep down. Use the dumb-bells. Hustle around and do a little housework even if I do give you a servant. Walk in the park. Keep your looks, girl; you may need 'em,' I used to tell you."
"Oh you—You!—"
She clapped her hands over her mouth as if to stanch hysteria.
"Another let-out like that, Mae, and, by gad! I'll take my hat and—"
"No, no, Max, I—I didn't mean it. I'm all right. I—Only after all these years you wouldn't do it, Max. You wouldn't. You wouldn't throw me over and leave me cold, Max. What can I do after all these years? I—I 'ain't got a show in a chorus no more. You're kidding, Max. You're a white man, Max, and—you—you wouldn't do it, Max. You wouldn't. You—"
"Now, now, you can't say I 'ain't been as white as silk, girl, and I'm going to be just as white as I've been, too. Don't worry, girl. For six years there 'ain't been a better-stocked flat than this in town, has there?"
"No, Max."
"The best none too good, eh?"
"No, Max."
"Just the same stuff comes here that I send up to my mother's flat, eh? All the drinks and all the clothes you want and a servant in the house as good as my mother's own, eh? No kick coming, eh, girl?"