"A little whisky?"
"Go away; you got me dosed up enough with such Schnapps."
"The light lower?"
"No. If you don't go in your room, I lay here all night with my eyes open, so help me!"
He rose, stiff and sore-kneed, hair awry, and his eyes with the red rims of fatigue. "You'll sure ring the little bell if you want anything, ma?"
"Sure."
"You promise you won't get up to fix breakfast."
"If I don't feel good, I let you fix mine."
"Good night, little sweetheart mamma."
"You ain't—mad at me, Sam?"