"Then who d'you belong to?" he demanded.
"Mickey!" she answered instantly.
"Who you got to do as I say?" he continued.
"Mickey," she repeated.
"Whose family are you?" he pursued.
"Mickey's!" she cried. "Mickey, what's the matter? Mickey, I love you best. I'm all yours. Mickey, I'll go back an' never say a word 'bout the hotness, or the longness, or anything, if you don't want me here."
"Well I do want you here," said Mickey in slow insistent tone. "I want you right here! But you got to understand a few things. You're mine. I'm going to keep you; you got to understand that."
"Yes Mickey," conceded Peaches.
"And if it will help you to be rubbed more than I can rub you while I got to earn money to pay for our supper when we go home, and fix your back, and save for the seminary, I'll let the nice pleasant lady rub you; and I'll let a good girl like Mary rub you, and if his hands ain't so big they hurt, maybe I'll let Peter rub you; he takes care of Bobbie, maybe he could you, and he's got a family of his own, so he knows how it feels; but it's nix on anybody else, Miss Chicken, see?"
"They ain't nobody else!" said Peaches.