"If you—you—"
"Why, honey, what's eatin' you? I been down pretty near this low many a time; only, you 'ain't known nothing about it, me not wanting to worry your pretty head. You ain't afraid, Babe, your old hubby can't always take care of his girl A1, are you?"
"No, no, Blutch; only—"
"What, Babe?"
"I wish to God you was out of it, Blutch! I wish to God!"
"Out of what, Babe?"
"The game, Blutch. You're too good, honey, and too—too honest to be in it.
What show you got in the end against your playin' pals like Joe Kirby and
Al Flexnor? I know that gang, Blutch. I've tried to tell you so often how,
when I was a kid livin' at home, that crowd used to come to my mother's—"
"Now, now, girl; business is—"
"You're too good, Blutch, and too honest to be in it. The game'll break you in the end. It always does. Blutch darling, I wish to God you was out of it!"
"Why, Ann 'Lisbeth, I never knew you felt this way about it."