Obad. I wish you meant that, Cynth. ’Tain’t no way to joke with me ’bout love. I should think you’d be ashamed to. You know I’ve been dying of love for you ever since we learned our a-b-abs together.
Cyn. ’Tain’t love that ails you, Obed, it’s indigestion. You fell in love with my lunch pail years ago and thought it was me. You never have got over your love for my—lunch pail!
Obad. By tunket, that ain’t fair, Cynth. I come over here to-night to tell yer there ain’t no need of your leavin’ Bay Point. If—if—you’d jest take a pardner into your business—you—you know I’m ready—more’n ready—hev been fer years.
Cyn. Don’t, Obed! Please! You are kind. I know how kind, and you deserve a good deal better partner than I would ever make.
Obad. I’d be satisfied. I shouldn’t fret ’bout that a mite.
Cyn. I thought you came for a lantern, Obed.
Obad. No, I wuz comin’ anyway, but I decided I needed a lantern. Fog’s so thick you can’t cut it with an axe and somebody’s stolen my pipe.
Cyn. (astonished). What?
Obad. Ever hear tell o’ sech a thing?
Cyn. (staring at him). Never!