"Your mother?"
"Yes; she's sick—maybe dyin'. I—please—she wants to see somebody that can't—can't—"
"What, little lady?"
"She's sick—dyin' maybe. She wants to see somebody that can't—can't—"
"Take your time, little lady—can't what?"
"Can't come."
"Who can't come?"
"He—my young—he's a young man. She's never seen him; and if—please, if you'd come and act super—just like you was fillin' in at a show; if you'd act like my young man just for a minute—please! My friend, he can't come—he can never come; but she—she wants him. You come, please! You come, please!"
She tugged at his arm, and he descended another step and peered into the exacerbated anxiety of her face.
"On the level, little lady?"