"If only—"
"Huh?"
"Aw, I can't say it."
"Whistle it, then, sweetness."
"It don't do us no good to talk about things, Joe. We—we never get anywhere."
"What's the use o' talking, then, sweetness? Here's your lemonade. I wish I was in the baby-food class—'pon my soul I do! Look, sweetness; this is the stuff, though. Look at its color, will you? Red as a moonshiner's eye! Here, waiter, leave that siphon; I might wanna shoot up the place."
"You promised, Joe, not—"
"Sure; I ain't goin' to, neither. Did I keep my pool promise? Ain't heard a ball click for weeks! Will I keep this one? Watch! Two's my limit, Peaches. I'd swear off sleepin' if you wanted me to."
"Would you, Joe? That's what I want you to tell ma when—"
"Aw, there you go again! Honest, the minute a fellow feels hisself warming up inside you begin tryin' to reach up to the church-tower and ring the bells."