CINDERELLA (candidly). I don’t want for to pretend, Mrs. Maloney, that the 99 is any guidance to me. I can not find out what it’s for. I would make so bold as to call your complaint muscular rheumatics if the pain came when you coughed. But you have no cough.
MRS. M. (coming to close quarters). No, but he has—my old man. It’s him that has the pains, not me.
CINDERELLA (hurt). What for did you pretend it was you?
MRS. M. That was his idea. He was feared you might stop his smoking.
CINDERELLA. And so I will.
MRS. M. What’s the treatment?
CINDERELLA (writing after consideration on a piece of paper). One of them mustard leaves.
MRS. M. (taking the paper). Is there no medicine?
CINDERELLA (faltering). I’m a little feared about medicine, Mrs. Maloney.
MRS. M. He’ll be a kind of low-spirited if there’s not a lick of medicine.