"Ready, Jimmie, my boy. Just hands folded and ready—that's all."
"Aw, cut it, can't you, ma? I—ma, quit scarin' a fellow. Quit battin' your eyes like that. Tryin' to flirt with me, ain't you, ma? Quit it, now! Lemme get you some of that black medicine—you're gettin' one of your spells. Lemme run down-stairs and send Lizzie Marks for old man Gibbs?"
"No, no, Jimmie—don't leave me! Hold me, my boy, so I can feel your face. Don't cry, Jimmie; there ain't nothin' to cry about."
"Cut the comedy, ma! I ain't cryin'; I'm sweatin'."
"Jimmie, are—you—there? I feel so—so heavy."
"Sure I am, ma—right here, holding you in my arms. Feel! There's the scar where old Gibbs sewed my face the time I got hit with a bat—feel, ma—see, it's me."
"What's that, Jimmie, on the foot of the bed movin'?"
"See, ma—that's your flowered glad-rag. You're go-goin' to put it on when Essie and her gen'l'man friend come in. It ain't movin'; I shoved it."
"Don't muss it, Jimmie."
"No. See, I smoothed out its tail—it's a sash for you, ma."