"You—you wouldn't, Max—you wouldn't ditch me. What could I do?
Nothing—nothing. I—I can't hire out as a scrubwoman, I—"
"Come, come now, girl, you're pretty slick, but you—you don't quite slide. What about that thirty-five hundred you got down in your jeans—eh? Them thirty-five hundred in the Farmers' Savings Bank—eh? Eh?"
"Max!"
"Hah! Knocked you off your pins that time, didn't I? I found your bank-book one morning, kiddo—found it on the floor right next to the dresser—"
"Max, I—Out of my checks I—I saved—I—"
"Sure! Gad! I ain't kicking about it, girl. Glad for you! Glad you got it, girl, only don't try to tell me you can't take care of yourself in this world alrighty, girl. Any old time you can't! Gad! thirty-five hundred she snitches out of her allowance in six years, lives on the fat of the land, too, and then tries to bamboozle me that she's flat. Thirty-five hundred in six years. Gad! I got to hand it to you there, kiddo; I got to hand it to you!"
"You can have it back, Max. I—I was going to surprise you when I had five thousand. I—"
"Gad! I don't want your money, girl. It's yours. You're fixed for life on it. I'm even going to hand you over a couple of thou extra to show you that I'm no cheap sport. I won't have a woman breathing can say I ain't white as silk with her."
"Max, you—you're killing me! Killing me! Killing me!"
"Now, now, Mae, if I was you I wouldn't show my hand so. I don't want to hurt you, girl. It ain't like I got any but the finest feelings for you. You're all right, you are. You are."